


The One Rule

by Anzier



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Did he just reference Doctor Who?, Gen, Graphic Description, Headcanon, Humor, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Post-Mass Effect 3, Rough Sex, Sequel, Vigilantism, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 139,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anzier/pseuds/Anzier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the galaxy picks up the pieces five years after the Reaper War, the only place that seems unchanged by the chaos is the crime-ridden space station Omega. Aria T'Loak, de facto ruler of Omega, continues to enforce her one rule with absolute authority: Don't fuck with Aria. Meanwhile, Solana Vakarian gets involved with the enigmatic Archangel, who has returned to Omega to break Aria's one rule--hard. As her bother tries to unravel the mystery behind Archangel's identity, she must decide whether to join in Archangel's increasingly drastic measures to free the station from its criminal roots--though she holds a dark secret of her own. . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape From Palaven

**Author's Note:**

> I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! And this is gonna be a doozy, folks. I don't really even have the whole thing planned; I'm just so excited to get it underway that I figure, screw it, it'll solve itself over time!
> 
> Before reading, there are a few things you should know about this story:
> 
> 1\. There will be graphic depictions of sex, violence, death, murder, mayhem, and possible/probable major character deaths. Squeamish, look elsewhere.
> 
> 2\. This story is set in the same universe as my first story, Powerless, and will refer to certain major events that occurred in that story. While it isn't necessary to read it, you might find yourself understanding a few elements of this one a little better. Elements such as. . .
> 
> 3\. As I said at the end of my other story, it is my firm headcanon that Executor Pallin is Garrus and Solana's father. That is going to be played on (and heavily rationalized) in this story. If you don't like that, or if you just can't work your mind around it, then you're not gonna like a lot of this. A lot of the culture stuff (aside from my explanation for Pallin) is taken directly from the Cerberus Daily News reports, which means they're canon and not made up by me (though some of it is--it's not like the reports were exhaustive, after all).
> 
> 4\. I have a LOT going on in my life and cannot promise regular updates to this story--in fact, I promise the exact opposite: Updates will be far between, possibly even months for some chapters. Rest assured, however, that I will complete what I started, as fast as I can manage--this isn't the last story I have in mind, after all. . .
> 
> 5\. I crave feedback. I feed on it. Kudos and favs are nice and all, but if you want faster updates, NOTHING motivates me more than comments and reviews--feel free to tell me you hate it, just be nice about it is all I ask.
> 
> Well, that's about it. I hope you enjoy!

**Palaven, 2186 CE**  
  
 **Solana**  
  
When she was little, Solana didn’t believe in monsters. Such things as terrible as boogeymen or wererachni were simply too silly to exist. And even if they did exist, she figured, her father was much scarier than any monster could ever possibly hope to be. She didn’t come to believe in monsters until she was older, watching the news of the devastation from the Vallum Blast cycle on every screen on every turian world and network in the galaxy, ceaselessly repeating as though people believed they could see new details if they just watched it enough times. On that day, even though she was on a completely different planet, her father called all the way from C-Sec just to make sure she was safe. That was a year ago. Even though everyone around her was terrified of a terrorist attack on Palaven, she was never scared.  
  
Then the monsters came. And Solana was afraid.  
  
Even though Palaven had some semblance of warning before the Reapers arrived, it made little difference. The Reapers, the real monsters behind all others, appeared without warning and without mercy. Within hours, the green sky above Cipritine was repainted black and orange with destruction. Travel centers were cut off or destroyed outright, preventing evacuations. The might of the galaxy’s most powerful military paled in comparison to the Reaper onslaught. Menae was their last, best stronghold against the Reapers. Menae, where Garrus was. If he was still alive.  
  
Her lookout shift was ending soon. From her perch at the top of a children’s playground in an abandoned schoolyard, she could see the Reapers destroy her home. Even from a distance of miles, the skyscraper-sized machines made their slow advance, in various directions, stopping only to deal with military resistance like they were flies. Red beams of fire shot from their cores and obliterated everything in their path.  
  
Her omni-tool lit up and beeped. She answered the call. It was from her father. Offworld and most long-distance calls had been rendered impossible.  
  
“Hey, Sol,” he said, his voice exhausted. “Everything okay on your end?”  
  
“Yeah,” she answered. It was a very loose definition of “okay,” but they were still alive and unmolested, at least. “I’m coming in right now. Just waiting for Aldus to relieve me.”  
  
“Good. Come find me when you’re done. I need to talk to you.”  
  
“Be there when I can.” She disconnected. Footsteps behind her signaled Aldus’ arrival.  
  
“Hey,” he said, giving half a wave. “Go get some rest.” He turned his gaze from her to the Reapers in the distance. “Shit. They’re getting closer, aren’t they? I could’ve swore that big one there,” he pointed to the closest Reaper, “was in the Zohess District this morning. Hope this isn’t their target.”  
  
Solana didn’t respond. _The whole planet is the target._  
  
 _“They’re coming,”_ Garrus had said. _“I don’t know when, but probably in the next year or so. You guys have to be ready. The Battle of the Citadel was nothing compared to what this’ll be.”_  
  
He never explained how exactly he knew what he knew, but Pallin believed him, and that was enough for Solana. At first she figured he’d been around Commander Shepard for too long—the human had also believed in Reapers, and everybody thought he was just paranoid. It didn’t help that the human was rumored to have been sent to prison. Pallin and Garrus took their concerns as high up as the Primarch, but they didn’t take much action aside from a consolatory gimmick they called a “task squad.” If they had, maybe they would have been more prepared.  
  
Not that any amount of preparation would have been enough for this.  
  
She tried to suppress her regrets as she entered the school. The perimeter of the building had been lined with handmade mines, tripwires, security cameras, and armed guards. The lower levels were barricaded, with militia on the floor level and sick, children and elderly on the upper floors. All of the windows were painted black and barricaded to maintain the appearance that the location was abandoned. Most of their equipment was left over from a previous group of survivors—other evidence of their existence consisted of dark blue splatters on the walls and charred skeletons. Whether they had moved on or been cleared out by Marauders was a mystery.  
  
When she reached the second floor, she found Pallin waiting for her.  
  
“Come with me,” he said, taking her arm.  
  
“Is something going on?” She tried asking. Pallin looked around the room at other turians as they passed like they were secretly enemies. “No,” he said. “Just want to show you something.”  
  
“Then why—“  
  
“Sol, just shut up and trust me, okay?”  
  
She didn’t press any further. He led her through trashed classrooms and down a locker hall meant for school staff, until they arrived in an expansive room that was once the teachers’ lounge. Several others were there, standing around a desk: Trinia Sorkin, the de facto leader of the group; Granthal Oseerus, and two she didn’t know: a human and a turian. Everyone was in full armor.  
  
“I will not accept this,” the unknown turian said, clearly outraged. “These people are defenseless! We can’t just—“  
  
“We’re _all_ defenseless here,” Trinia said, her green eyes burning through her helmet. “This little setup we have isn’t a defense; it’s a delusion.”  
  
Granthal, by far the largest turian in the room, kept looking over his shoulder as if someone might be listening. “Keep it down,” he said. “We don’t want the whole damn building to hear us.” Despite his size, Solana and everyone else who knew him knew he was quite timid.  
  
Pallin approached the table, releasing Solana’s arm. “She goes,” he said.  
  
Every eye in the room turned toward her. Trinia shook her head. “We’re quickly running out of room for—“  
  
“Then she can have my seat. She goes, no matter what.”  
  
Trinia sighed in defeat. “Fine. As long as it isn’t mine, we’re good.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Solana said, frustrated from the secrecy, “but what the hell is going on?”  
  
Pallin turned back to her. “We received a comm a few minutes ago. A _hastatim_ evacuation shuttle is taking survivors offworld. Their LZ is only a few miles from here.”  
  
“A shuttle?” Just that morning, evacuation seemed like a hopeless dream. “Then let’s get everyone together and. . .”  
  
Their gazes cut her off.  
  
“There’s not enough room for everyone,” she said as she figured it out. “Is there?”  
  
Pallin shook his head. “No. And the area has become too compromised for them to make any return trips. This is the only chance we have.”  
  
The turian she didn’t recognize spoke up again. “And why should it be us who go? Since when are they,” he pointed up at the ceiling, “less important or deserving of life?”  
  
“Nobody is saying that,” Trinia said. “But we have to keep realistic. Even if we took the time and resources to gather every one of us, sick and unable alike, when we got there most of them would be left behind anyway. Fights will break out over who goes. I saw it happen with the initial evacuations; some shuttles never made it off the ground because of the fighting. And then we could all die.”  
  
“We’re assuming, of course,” said Granthal, “that this isn’t a Reaper trap. Even if we get there and find a shuttle waiting for us instead of a horde of Marauders, the turians in that shuttle could still be indoctrinated. For all we know, this place could be the safer option, and the ones leaving will just be going to their deaths.”  
  
“But—“  
  
“May I remind you,” Trinia said, cutting the stranger off, “that you are only here because Lance foolishly told you about this? If you don’t want to go, you may feel free to stay here and open your seat to someone else.”  
  
“I agree with him,” Solana said. All eyes were back on her. “It isn’t right that a few of us should leave the rest to die. We’re held up pretty securely here; we can fight off any Marauders that come through, but fewer guns means less defense, right? There are children up there!”  
  
“Sol,” Pallin said, approaching. She stepped back. “In any other circumstance, I would be agreeing with you. But we _can not fight these things_. A few Marauders, maybe, but what happens when the full-sized Reapers make it here? Do you think our guns will bring them down when the imperial army couldn’t?”  
  
Her rational mind battled with her sense of decency, the pressure of tears starting to form behind her eyes. “Then I won’t go,” she shook her head. “Give my seat to someone else. I’d rather die than—“  
  
“Absolutely not.” Pallin grabbed her face and pulled her close. “I will not lose you, do you hear me? You and your brother are the only things keeping me sane in all of this. And your mother? Do you want me to kneel next to her bed on Sur’Kesh when all of this is over and tell her I left you on Palaven? I love you more than anything, Sol, but I will knock you unconscious and carry you to the shuttle if I have to, and you can hate me for the rest of your life if you want.”  
  
Her spirit crumbled within her, but she relented, nodding, too afraid to speak.  
  
“That’s six of us,” Trinia said. “The comm said five, so let’s hope Granthal here can suck in his gut enough to fit. Are you going?” She said, looking to the stranger. _Who is this guy?_  
  
He looked down at the floor for a moment before nodding. Solana saw his hand shaking by his side.  
  
“All right,” Trinia said. “Everybody get what you need, but be inconspicuous about it. We can’t let  the others know we’re leaving.”  
  
“What’ll they do when it’s time to shift to our watch?” Solana asked.  
  
“Aldus has it covered. He refused to come with us.”  
  
This shocked her too. _I just saw him. Just a few minutes ago._  
  
They dispersed. Solana ignored her father and walked up to the stranger.  
  
“Hey,” she said. “We haven’t met, have we? I’m Solana.”  
  
“Well met, Solana” he said, nodding to her. All she saw of him through his helmet were his dark, deep-set eyes. He left the room without allowing her any further conversation.  
  
“Don’t worry about him,” the human named Lance said. “He doesn’t give his name to anybody. Even I don’t know it; I just call him Guy or something.”  
  
“What do you know about him?”  
  
“I’ve, ah, worked with him for a year, but I don’t know anything aside from the fact that he’s damn good with an assault rifle. My guess is former military, but that would describe pretty much every turian in existence, so. . .er, no offense. He’s a good man, though. Saved my life more than once, and plenty of others after the Reapers showed up.”  
  
Her father was waiting by the door, gesturing for her to hurry up.  
  
“I guess I’ll see you on the other side,” Lance said, waving as he left. Solana moved past her father, who thankfully didn’t attempt to stop her or justify himself, and went up the stairs to get what she needed. She had her pistol on her hip holster at all times, even when she slept, in addition to her omni-blade, though she wasn’t very good at wielding it. In the common room, by the ragged blanket that was now her bed, she kept another pistol, a ceremonial knife, and the makings for a few grenades and basic wire traps, should they ever be huddled in the common room.  
  
A big lump under her blanket stirred when she picked up her things. Emerging from beneath was Tydas, a boy of only ten who’d lost his home and his mother. The child had bonded to her, asking her to teach him how to make bombs and fight the Reapers like the adults, much to his father’s dismay.  
  
“Venari Solana?” The boy asked. Hearing his tired voice broke her heart.  
  
“Hey,” she said, kneeling down to him. “I told you, I’m not a Venari, remember? My dad is.”  
  
“No, but you should be! Can we do wire traps today? I’m still not very good at those.”  
  
The boy stood up and looked to her like she alone could defend against the Reaper onslaught. She kept her feelings bottled in, trying to remember what Trinia and her father had said. _We can’t save everyone._  
  
“I have to go out today, Tydas,” she said. “I have. . .an important mission. Maybe your father can help you out today.”  
  
“Aww. I wanna go with you.”  
  
 _I want to take you, believe me._ Surely they’d have room on the shuttle for one small child? But she couldn’t take the boy without telling his father—and then what if he wanted to go? What if he told the others?  
  
She hugged Tydas real close. “I’ll teach you tomorrow, okay?” She used the hug as an excuse not to look the boy in the eye. She couldn’t.  
  
“Promise?” He said, hugging her tightly with his tiny arms.  
  
“I promise.” _Spirits forgive me_. “Now, go see your father. And, hey. . .be good for me, okay? While I’m gone?”  
  
“I will. Watch out for Reapers!”  
  
The boy walked off toward her father’s bed, sidestepping other refugees and weapons along the way. Solana left him the wire trap materials on her blanket. It wasn’t enough to make her feel better, and it wouldn’t be enough for Tydas when she wouldn’t be there the next day, but she hoped he’d understand.  
  
When she had what she needed, she made her way toward where her father slept, trying to move as casually as she could. Pallin had two pistols, a shotgun, and an omni-tool, along with a few medigel kits strapped to his armor. Despite clearly having trouble with the weight of it all, he seemed determined to push forward.  
  
“Here,” she said, giving him her hand. “I can take the shotgun. Also, let me have one of the medigels.”  
  
He handed her the items without argument. When they were ready, they made their way to the stairs. The others waited for them by the entrance, ready to go.  
  
“Where you guys headed?” The guard posted at the front said.  
  
“Supply run,” Trinia responded, not stopping. Solana kept her head down. She didn’t want anyone to see her face; she felt like a single look from a guard would give their entire group’s intentions away.  
  
When they were far enough away from the school, they broke out into a quicker pace.  
  
“There may be Marauders between us,” Pallin said. “So stay near me, Sol.”  
 “You know, I have actually killed a few of them before, dad.”  
  
“A few, maybe,” Granthal said. “If we come across a whole squad of them. . .”  
  
“Way to be optimistic, Grant,” Lance said. While the turians could take their helmets off, Lance had to remain in full armor to prevent radiation sickness. Humans couldn’t handle Palaven’s proximity to their sun. “Though,” he continued, looking back, “I guess optimism is in short supply now.”  
  
The stranger didn’t say anything, keeping step a few paces away from the rest of the group. His head slowly swiveled back and forth like a security camera, keeping tabs on their whole environment. He seemed focused on everything around them at once. Solana looked around too, tried to see what he saw: cover spots, potential ambush sites, open area. The silver grass beneath their feet had mostly turned a sickened black and died, due to the lack of sunlight.  
  
“How sure are we that the shuttle will still be there?” Granthal asked.  
  
“The comm relay was lost, but we managed to gather that they’ll take survivors until dusk or they reach capacity or they get killed, whatever comes first. We don’t know who else received the message, so we need to hurry if we’re going to make it.”  
  
“Um,” Lance said, looking around the group. “Hate to point out the pink elephant in the room, but. . .what do we do if they’re there, but don’t have room for all of us?”  
  
There was a long moment before Trinia answered. “Hopefully that won’t be the case.”  
  
“Down!” The stranger suddenly said. Everyone immediately obeyed, the stakes far too high to question him. They immediately dropped to their stomachs, their weapons at the ready, forming a makeshift circle around Solana, who was the group healer. The stranger scooted over to them as quickly as he could.  
  
“Movement,” he whispered, pointing ahead. “About seventy yards.”  
  
“Marauder?” Pallin asked.  
  
“Couldn’t tell. Anybody here use a sniper rifle?”

  
 “I _can_ ,” Trinia said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m particularly good at it.”  
  
“Good enough. Cover me.”  
  
Without another word, he rose to a crouch and shuffled forward, assault rifle in hand, while Trinia followed behind with her sniper rifle. Solana watched them move ahead until she couldn’t see them anymore. A few terrible silent moments passed, then they reappeared, still crouched.  
  
“Marauders,” Trinia said. “Several of them.”  
  
“Shit,” Granthal said. “Can we go around?”  
  
“It might be better to just kill them and move on,” the stranger said. All eyes turned toward him, and for a moment Solana thought he seemed nervous at being the center of attention. “Going around is the safer option, but we only saw four; nothing the six of us can’t handle. And we’ll lose precious time by going around them anyway.”  
  
“I have to agree,” said Lance. “Plus, if we go around and they spot us from behind, we’ll be the ones who get snuck up on, and then we’ll have lost that time for nothing. If we can surprise them, it’ll be over in a few minutes. The Marauders are smarter than Husks, but they’re still zombie machines; four of them are hardly a threat.”  
  
 _Which begs the question,_ Solana thought, _why are there only four?_ She had a bad feeling about a direct assault, but she couldn’t argue with the need for time.  
  
The six of them mulled it over for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of an assault. Finally, they all decided it would be better to kill them and keep moving. They all rose to a crouch and made their formation: Pallin, the stranger, and Lance at the front with assault rifles, Trinia and Lance providing covering fire with sniper rifle and tech support, and Solana at the rear with medical support and projectile cover.  
  
She saw the Marauders as they approached. Horrifying creatures made of twisted metal and scraps of flesh, they resembled turians only in shape. She had heard from Garrus about the Husks, how they were humans somehow transformed into mindless synthetic monsters—were these Marauders once turians? If so, she realized, they could be someone she once knew: a friend, a brother-in-arms, a relative. . .one of them could potentially be Garrus himself, caught on Menae and converted into a Reaper slave.  
  
She shook her head to focus away from such thoughts. Even thought it had been a long time since they were able to contact him, Garrus was too tough, too _stubborn_ to be killed by Marauders. He would consider it an insult. And if she died. . .  
  
So she focused. There was open ground between them and the Marauders, making an unseen approach next to impossible. Trinia set up her sniper rifle while the rest of them advanced, first crouching, then standing, then a full charge forward.  
  
The first Marauder that looked up at them got hit by a sniper bullet. The other three, alerted to their presence, trained their guns on them with a lifeless clicking noise, their eyes completely void of any emotion or spirit. Whatever they were as turians, they were now shells, nothing but Reaper toys. It was a mercy to kill them.  
  
Forgetting her own role as medic, Solana drew her pistol and fired on one as it aimed for her father. Pallin drew in close with his shotgun and blasted a hole through the Marauder’s midsection. A shard of metal flew out and grazed his armor, but he remained uninjured.  
  
Granthal used an attack drone to distract one Marauder as he fired at it with his pistol. Lance and the stranger both fired a continuous onslaught of bullets at the last with their assault rifles. In the end, nothing remained but the six of them as Trinia rejoined the group.  
  
“Anyone injured?” Solana asked.  
  
They all shook their heads. “Let’s keep moving,” Trinia said, stepping over a Marauder corpse. Its soulless yellow eyes had gone dark forever. Solana hoped their spirits could rest.  
  
They had moved maybe twenty yards when Solana heard the noise. Like giant wings grating against the air itself. They all stopped to look up in the sky. Solana saw it first: descending from the smoke-saturated atmosphere was a beast like nothing she had ever seen. A beast made of twisted metal layered with scraps of flesh.  
  
“Harvester!” She called.  
  
Like the Marauders, the Harvesters were corrupted by the Reapers and turned into air superiority craft. Their presence meant a swarm of ground troops were near.  
  
The beast opened its mouth, revealing two gun turrets that fired on their group. The ground exploded nearby, raining dirt and rocks all around them. They turned and ran, unable to face a Harvester on open ground.  
  
She heard the dropping of bodies behind them, followed by the familiar metallic clicking that haunted her dreams. Gunshots soon followed. Looking back, she saw six—seven, eight, _nine_ —Marauders tailing them. She couldn’t see the Harvester, but she could hear the flapping of its wings and the inorganic screech it uttered in the atmosphere.  
  
As she focused on the ground in front of her and the gunshots behind her, a sudden iron grip clamped on both of her shoulders and lifted her of her feet. The Harvester’s talons dug into her armor; while they didn’t extend far enough to penetrate her skin, their grip threatened to crush her shoulders with pressure. The ground receded beneath her as she struggled against the Harvester. Her entire life flashed before her eyes: she saw her mother’s face holding her close, her father’s expertise with a gun, her brother saying goodbye when she left for boot camp, her first _oserun_ , her first lover, everything slipped through her mind in a brief instant.  
  
Then she heard the familiar blast of a sniper rifle, and that woke her from her reverie. The Harvester shook, and she felt herself slide in a lurching movement that brought her heart to her throat. Another shot, and the Harvester released its grip.  
  
She screamed as she fell. The ground, which she quickly realized was closer than it had appeared, rushed up to meet her. She tried landing on loose knees as she had been taught, but when she made impact her left leg took the brunt of the force with a sickening crunch that she somehow experienced with all of her senses at once. There was a flash of blue light accompanied with pain, then her endorphins kicked in and the world slowed down around her. She tried to stand, but her leg wouldn’t work properly. Sounds didn’t register like she knew they should. Somebody picked her up from behind; looking up, she saw the helmet of the stranger shaking as he ran with her in his arms.  
  
“Where are the others?” She asked, surprised by the calmness in her own voice. Endorphins. Natural drugs.  
  
He must not have heard her, because he kept running, ducking and dodging Marauder gunfire as they went. He nearly dropped her a couple of times, his grip jerking suddenly to right her in his arms. The movement sent a little shock through her leg that reminded her of the condition she was in. His shields shimmered as bullets and debris impacted critical areas of his body.  
  
Her view was limited, but she could see her father stab a Marauder with his omni-blade without stopping his run. He made his way toward them.  
  
“Sol!” He called. “Oh, shit, your leg. . .”  
  
“Bigger problems at hand!” The stranger said. “I’m better with guns,” he said to Pallin. “Take her.”  
  
He threw her moreso than handed her to her father, who held her over his shoulder as they ran. The position was significantly less comfortable than in the stranger’s arms, but she could see the hellish stampede behind them as her father ran for both of their lives:  
  
Dozens of Marauders, helmed by the Harvester, whose erratic flight pattern suggested injured wings. Lance, Trinia and Granthal were farther behind, pelting the horde with gunfire every few minutes to hold them back. Explosions blended with the Marauders’ terrifying shrieks every moment.  
  
In a flash, she realized that they were extremely likely to die.  
  
“Dad,” she said, “don’t let them get us.”  
  
“I won’t,” he replied, his breath heavy. He wouldn’t be able to stand much longer, holding her.  
  
“No,” she said, keeping her voice as emphatic as possible. “Don’t. Let. Them. Get. Us.”  
  
He didn’t respond that time. Her pistol was still on her hip; if she had to be the one to make sure neither of them ever became one of those things, so be it.  
  
Her father suddenly stopped short, giving the Marauders a few horrifying steps to get closer. “WAIT!” He called out to something ahead. Solana couldn’t see from her position.  
  
“What is it?” She said. “Run, dad!”  
  
“The shuttle!” He said. “They see the Marauders. They’re going to take off without us! WAIT, damn you!”  
  
He tripped over something and they both went spiraling to the ground, her leg screaming in agony. When she raised her head and her vision cleared, she saw the evac shuttle, its engines revving up for takeoff, a few turians loading into the open doors.  
  
She tried to stand, but her leg wouldn’t allow it. _We’re so close._  
  
A pair of legs crunched up next to her, and a hand forcefully grabbed her arm to pick her up. It was the stranger again. He carried Solana back in his arms while awkwardly activating his omni-tool. He spoke as loud as he could into the device.  
  
“Hold position!” He said. “We have evacuees, six, one injured.”  
  
“Negative,” came a reply. “We can’t risk the Marauders. You morons led them right to us.”  
  
Solana grabbed the stranger’s omni-tool and turned her head to speak. “If you try to leave us behind, I swear to all the spirits I will tear your shuttle out of the sky and you can die with us!”  
  
“Threats ain’t gonna help you, lady,” came the response. Solana turned off the omni-tool herself and pointed a hand at the shuttle.  
  
Before she could warn herself of the stupidity of it, she closed her eyes and allowed the small burst of energy to pour from her fingers. The shuttle rocked in midair slightly, unharmed but definitely impacted. She grabbed the stranger’s hand again, avoiding looking at his face.  
  
“Believe me yet?”  
  
“The fuck was that? Crazy bitch!”  
  
“I thought so. Now, room for six more?”  
  
“Damn it.”  
  
The shuttle drooped back to a lower level, and the side door opened. They were mere steps away; her, the stranger carrying her, her father, Trinia, Granthal. . . _Where’s Lance?_  
  
The turian carrying her tossed her into the shuttle first, where she rolled against metal floor. Her broken leg sang its song of pain again, but she ignored it. The stranger leapt on next, followed by her father, then Trinia, who grabbed onto Granthal. The human figure of Lance was behind, firing a volley of assault rifle shots into the crowd.  
  
“Lance!” The stranger called. “Get in here!”  
  
The human turned and waved, signaling the ship to get off the planet.  
  
“NO!” The stranger shrieked. Pallin grabbed him from behind. “He’s buying us time, son.”  
  
“Not him!” He kept screaming in protest, resisting her father. “It has to be me! It should be me! Lance! Idiot!”  
  
“We’re not waiting any longer,” came the voice from the cockpit. Solana recognized it from the omni-tool. She made a mental note not to talk to him.  
  
The doors closed, leaving Lance behind.  
  
“Dad,” she said, trying to rise. “I can help him! I can. . .”  
  
“No!” He said, turning to her. He let the stranger go to kneel down and grab her shoulders. “You can’t, Solana.”  
  
“Yes, I—“  
  
 _“No, I said.”_  
  
It was too late to argue; the doors closed, and as her father helped her get to a seat, she heard the turian who saved both their lives crying into his hands, mumbling incoherently between sobs. Sitting next to her was a turian staring off into space with a haunted look in his eyes.  
  
“Do you know where we’re going?” She asked him.  
  
His head turned slowly toward her. He looked at her like she was something from a work of fiction, then turned his head back into its original position, with no answer.  
  
 _Okay then._ As long as it was somewhere away from the Reapers, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered anymore was survival.  
  
Pallin stood next to her, holding onto whatever he could grab to keep a foothold. The ship ran a bumpy course. Solana realized that they still weren’t safe until they escape the Trebia system. They could still be beset on by Reapers in the atmosphere, if they were unlucky.  
  
She tried not to focus on that.  
  
“Dad,” she said, “have you tried contacting Garrus? Let him know we’re all right?”  
  
He blinked at her a couple of times, then activated his omni-tool, inputting a few commands to establish a link. There was a crackling static noise. He gave the omni-tool a look. It was worth a try.  
  
“ _Dad?_ ” Came a fuzzy voice on the other end.  
  
“Garrus?” Pallin said, shocked.

  
 _“CKSHCKX—Dad—CXKSKSH—okay? Where are—CKSHXHKC”_  
  
“We’re okay, Garrus. Do you hear me? We’re evacuating now. Come in. Are you okay?”  
  
 _“CKXSCHX—okay—CKSXHS—Sola—CSCHKS”_  
  
“You’re sister’s all right. Her leg, I think it’s broken. Can you hear me?”  
  
The static on the connection fizzled out, leaving them in silence. Pallin shook his arm around to jumpstart the omni-tool, but the connection never returned. With a sigh, he turned it off and slumped onto the ground.  
  
“At least he sounded all right,” he said. “Just worried about us. That’s good. That’s. . .”  
  
His head slumped slightly. Solana moved to catch him, jarring her leg in the process. He jerked back up when she pushed him back with her good foot.  
  
“Dad, you need to rest. Take my seat.”  
  
He shook his head. “I’m fine. I’ll sleep on the floor or something. Rest your leg.”  
  
“Dad.” She got up, put her weight all on her good leg, and tried to lift him up. “I need to lie horizontally to rest my leg anyway, and I can’t do that on a seat. Get up here.”  
  
“Stubborn girl,” he said as he sat.  
  
“Where did I get that from. Now rest.”  
  
He finally relented, laying his head back on his arm. His eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in her life Solana realized just how old her father really was. Even the former Executor of C-Sec had a limit.  
  
Over by the door, the stranger hadn’t moved, though his helmet was off and he no longer seemed to be crying. His eyes stared out into space at something only he could see, something that appeared to make him furious—though at what, she couldn’t tell. She limped to him and touched his shoulder, starting him from his reverie.  
  
“Are you all right?” She asked.  
  
He looked at her with his dark, deep-set eyes. At first she thought he was barefaced, but along the line of his chin and mandibles there were pink scars where facial markings used to be. _They were burned off?_ To have one’s markings removed was a deeply personal thing that usually signified an intense regret. Or a crime against Palaven, if it was the police who removed them. She decided not to ask about them.  
  
The stranger looked away from her eyes and nodded.  
  
“I’m. . .sorry about Lance,” she said. He nodded again. Part of her told her to leave him in peace, but something about the way he looked at anything but her eyes made her stubborn self insist that she stay and force him into a conversation. So she sat next to him, stretching out her bad leg so that she could at least not put any pressure on it.  
  
“Tell me about him,” she said.  
  
He shrugged. “Not much to tell.”  
  
“Tell me anyway. I want to know about people who save my and my father’s lives.”  
  
He was silent for a moment. His neck stretched back and looked up at the ceiling. “I know he had family here. Turians, not humans. Cousins, I think, or something. I think he had a relative that married into a turian family. He was visiting them when the Reapers attacked. Anyway, we met about a year ago, and we. . .decided to work together. He was a good man. Too many good men have died because. . .”  
  
“Because of the Reapers?” She finished.  
  
He snorted. “Yeah. The Reapers.”  
  
 _He acts like they don’t even exist._ “It’s not your fault,” she said abruptly. His look darted to her with wide eyes, and she thought she might have offended him. “I mean, I’m sorry, but it isn’t. It isn’t the fault of anyone, except the Reapers. You’re a good person, and he had to have known that, doing what he did for you.”  
  
His mandibles parted slightly into a sad smile. “He didn’t know anything about me, girl. If he did, he would have thrown me at the Marauders and taken his seat where he belongs. It would only be right.” He looked away. “You should tend to your father. He looked worn out.”  
  
She planted herself in her seat. “He’ll be fine. My leg hurts too much anyway.”  
  
The stranger jerked again. “Oh, right, your leg. How is it?”  
  
“Definitely broken,” she said.  
  
“Here,” he said, reaching into his armor and pulling something back out. “You can have my medigel. Not much good for broken bones, but it might be soothing, if nothing else.”  
  
She took the little canisters. “Thanks.” She looked at them in her hand, at the light blue material inside. “You know, you say you’re a bad person, but I have yet to see you do anything bad. You saved my life, now this. I’m the type of person who needs proof.”  
  
He chuckled at that. “If you’re trying to probe me for information, good luck. Lance tried for a year.”  
  
“Like I said, I want to know about people who save my life.”  
  
His look turned serious again. “Solana. . .I appreciate the gesture. . .but getting close to me is a proven health risk. So please, just leave me to my secrets. . .and I’ll leave you to yours.”  
  
She looked down at her hands. _So he **did** see it._ The secret she had kept so well most of her life, even through the invasion, all revealed to a stranger in a single moment. It was almost funny. She clenched her hands into fists.  
  
“At least tell me your name,” she said.  
  
He turned away from her.  
  
“You already know my secret,” she said, pressing onward. “And that particular one encompasses pretty much all I have to hide. You don’t have to tell me everything, like why you burned your markings off, or why you insist on dying in someone else’s place. Just your name. That’s all I ask.”  
  
He kept staring at the wall. Solana decided not to keep pressing him. If he wouldn’t talk to her anymore, so be it. The universe would spin on.  
  
“You’re very stubborn, aren’t you?” He said to the wall. His voice was low, not quite to the point of whispering, but very quiet.  
  
She brushed him off. “You should meet my brother. He’s also always trying to die a big hero. He doesn’t understand just how important he is, or how much he’s loved. . .even though he is a pain in the ass.”  
  
His head turned toward her again, the smile returned to his face. She liked his smile. Making this sad person smile seemed like a small victory in galaxy full of defeats. “He’s lucky to have you protecting him,” he said.  
  
“Heh. He’s the one protecting us. He’s on Menae. He—“ Her voice suddenly choked up, so she cut herself off from that line of discussion. “You still haven’t told me your name,” she said.  
  
The stranger sighed, looking up. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” She gave a snicker at that. He looked into her eyes and offered his hand to shake. She took it, meeting his firm grip with her own.  
  
“Lantar,” he said. “Lantar Sidonis.”


	2. Needing Miracles

**2191 CE — Five Years Later**  
  
 **Garrus**  
  
If the multiverse theory was correct, there were other universes—possibly infinite in number—similar to theirs. Which meant that there were possibly an infinite number of Garrus Vakarians, all with their own little personalities, living with the consequences of their own choices. Perhaps some of them were evil, or dead, or something else entirely.  
  
He wondered if they were all having as shitty a day as he was.  
  
The stench of hospital sterilization pervaded his senses. All up and down the ugly beige walls, there were doors—most of them closed, a few open a crack as though not wanting to expose the outside world to too much of the misery within. In another time, he probably would have been the only turian there, but ever since the Reaper War, there wasn’t a hospital in existence that wasn’t packed with members of every known species. Still, the hospital staff was primarily salarian, which if nothing else meant that the care here would be top-notch. And now, for the first time in his life, he could even afford it.  
  
Not that it helped his mother any.  
  
A pair of familiar feet appeared at the periphery of his vision. Solana put a hand on his shoulder, lifting him up out of his chair in the waiting room. Pallin was there as well, moving up and down in circles and whatever other motions he could to appear busy. Garrus wasn’t the only one who hated hospitals.  
  
“You didn’t go in?” Solana asked.  
  
He shook his head. “I wanted to wait for you guys. Surprise her with all of us together, you know.”  
  
It was a lie; he was afraid, and they all knew it because they all shared the same fear: the fear of going into that room and facing the person within alone. Besides, she wouldn’t be surprised—she was the one who asked them all to come.  
  
Doctors and nurses and orderlies and staff with titles he didn’t know all passed them by, and every once in a while, one of them would look up from their datapad to glance at his scars, or a small group would get together and whisper while pointing in his direction. He’d gotten used to that. _Should have had them removed,_ he thought for the millionth time. He had grown to like the scars, but if they were corrected then at least he wouldn’t be the most recognizable turian in the universe.  
  
Oh well.  
  
Unable to delay the inevitable any longer, the three of them collectively steeled themselves like a unit preparing to charge, drawing on eachother for energy and the support they needed just to take a single step. If any one of them faltered, they all would. They all moved at the same pace, one step at a time, toward the door.  
  
The door whooshed open, exposing them to a gorgeous view through massive windows of the jungle countryside that typified most salarian worlds. Alien bird species flew among the trees below. Bird images were painted onto the windows to keep birds from mistaking the glass for the sky and crashing into them. The sky above was cloudless, and the small-but-bright sun kept the outside at a brisk eighty degrees. Salarian worlds had the best weather, next to turian worlds.  
  
As far as hospital rooms went, this one was the most grandiose of any he had ever seen, reserved for high-profile patients who were admitted for long-term or end-of-life care. It was also extremely expensive, not even counting the doctors and the technology involved; combine that with the fact that salarian medicine was the most expensive (but advanced) in the galaxy and the price was well over several million credits to maintain per year. A part of him felt immensely guilty using this room for his own purposes when there were countless others, rich and poor, who could make immeasurable use for it. But he put that part of him aside to care for his mother.  
  
She had already been prepared for their visit. She had been dressed, groomed, placed in a chair connected to several wires and holographic interfaces, and put facing the window. She had always loved grand natural views. It was another reason why Garrus put her there. The scales on her head had been sheared to an almost perfectly symmetrical sheen, and underneath the antiseptic hospital stench that pervaded every molecule of the building, he could smell a faint trace of soap.  
  
No amount of preparation could change the fact of her situation, however. She remained dressed in a hospital gown, too weak to leave the building, making changing into real clothes pointless. Her neck bent to an almost grotesque angle to her right side, and her right mandible slouched open. A small trail of drool trickled down her jawline to pool at her shoulder. Her body was so emaciated that it was like looking at a living skeleton; the only part of her that separated her from a corpse was her eyes. Unblinking, her dark auburn eyes somehow managed to convey a measure of life that remained inside the mangled body that had given up its own energy long ago.  
  
She was Xenafor Vakarian. She was his mother. He loved her more than anything else in the galaxy. Yet, still: she horrified him.  
  
The machinery around her chair beeped to life and a holographic projection appeared behind her. Before, the projection was just a generic Avina VI that communicated in a typical unwavering happy voice (“I hope you die in a fire,” the thing could say in a cheery metallic tone) and was limited to a Galactic vocabulary of only a hundred-thousand or so words. This VI, however, was modeled in the shape of Xenafor before the Corpalis set in, her mandibles tight and her posture straight and strong. The voice had also been programmed to sound as much like the original as possible, but it never quite captured the same energy as the real thing when it spoke, never quite met the same nuance and grace of language as a living organic being. Even EDI and the Geth had more of a soul than the voice of the VI.  
  
Still. It was the best they could do.  
  
“Hello, Pallin,” the VI representing his mother said. “Garrus, Solana. I am glad you could come today. Have you talked to the doctor yet?”  
  
Pallin shook his head, taking the moment to speak for all of them.  
  
“Good. I wanted to be the first one to tell you. Find a place to sit, please.”  
  
“Tell us what?” Garrus asked, a bad feeling setting on him. He had long-since trained himself to look into his mother’s eyes when he spoke to her, rather than the VI’s hollow projection of her eyes.  
  
“Garrus,” she said, “How is John doing?”  
  
Abrupt change of subject. It was something he was going to hate, and something he would want to put off for as long as possible. “He’s doing well,” he said. “Wanted me to tell you hi. He’s doing some charity thing for orphans from slave raids.”  
  
“I heard about that. What was the organization name again?”  
  
“Honestly, between the Shepard Foundation for Orphaned Teens and the Commander Shepard Memorial Orphanage and the Young Shepard Association and the Sheep-Scouts and all the others, I’ve stopped keeping track. Just pick a charity for orphans and John’s probably involved with it somehow, whether he knows about it or not.”  
  
“That is funny.” Another difference between a VI and the real thing: a VI can’t laugh. “Please tell him that I support his work. Solana, how are your studies going? I hope that this visit will not throw you off track.”  
  
Solana shook her head. Of the three of them, she was the one most comfortable around Xenafor, mainly because she spent the most time with her when she was sick. “It’s going well,” she said. “My neurobiotic tech class is a nightmare, but I’ll make it. I always do. But. . .why did you call us here, mom?”  
  
Pallin suddenly became very fascinated with the far wall, scratching the back of his neck like it was infested with mites. _He knows already._  
  
Xenafor’s chair rolled toward her bed, a standard-sized deal that seemed pitifully small in the penthouse suite of hospital rooms. The VI floated right behind like a ghost that refused to leave its object of torment. “Could you sit down, please?” It said.  
  
Garrus felt like his heels were being slowly filled with lead as he moved to sit. Solana, either oblivious or making a strong face of it, seemed completely ignorant to what was going on. Xenafor turned to face them when they were situated. Their father stood a few feet from the bed, still avoiding eye contact. Whatever was strong enough to make him uncomfortable was something to make Garrus very nervous.  
  
“As you know,” Xenafor’s VI began, “the Corpalis treatments haven’t been going very well.”  
  
It was true. Garrus had managed to get her into a high-profile research treatment program before the Reapers arrived, but once the War began, all medical research had come to a screeching halt to deal with billions of incoming patients and refugees. The galaxy had only just begun picking up the pieces left behind.  
  
“Well, no,” Solana said, “but the doctors say—“  
  
“Please let me finish first,” Xenafor’s VI interrupted. “As I said, it isn’t going well. Yes, the doctors say I have a good five or ten years in me yet. However, the pain has been getting worse. It is spreading through me, slowly but surely. Research into treatment has come a long way, even with the Reaper War, but there is still no cure in sight. But I have wondered. Even if they do find a cure, what then? I will be without pain, but my nervous system will never recover. I will live another twenty, thirty, a hundred years, but unable to walk, run, or even leave my chair. I will not be able to dress, or bathe, or use the toilet without assistance. I will be unable to hug my children or love my husband. I will be dead and alive at once. Unless they manage to bring dead cells back to life, a miracle in all religions, that will be my fate, and only if they find a cure. I can not live like this. My children. I love you more than life itself. Given the choice, I would go over every single second the exact same way all over again rather than not have the two of you in my life. But I will not live in this state any longer.”  
  
Solana gasped. “Mom…?!”  
  
“I have asked the doctors to cease treatment,” the VI said with its soulless eyes. “I am ready to die.”  
  


* * *

  
**John**  
  
“And as we commemorate this building to the future of our children, allow me to just say. . .”  
  
 _Ah, crap. Which one was this again? Commander Shepard Memorial? No, that was last week. . ._  
  
He was seated at the seat of honor on a table including several other humans. Toolak’s atmosphere lay slightly heavy on his lungs, but the air didn’t seem to impact Burrhus Forza as he continued his necessary opening speech.  
  
“. . .our hope, that Toolak’s re-emergence as an economic superpower will coincide with the opening of. . .”  
  
 _So that’s it._ Toolak was once one of the most profitable human colonies in the System Alliance, churning out billions of credits a day in diamond exports. The planet’s diamond-laden mountains were a target of raiders and pirates ever since their discovery, but miners managed to hold them off until batarian raiders attacked, killing thousands. Even though the batarians were all killed, Toolak’s economy never recovered, and for nearly thirty years, the planet had been practically deserted.  
  
The orphanage was nothing but a front for the new mining operations. _Always about the credits. Five years, and nothing’s changed._ He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. The slight movement triggered a sudden wave of shutter clicks from the crowd, a phenomena he’d grown used to. The next day’s news headlines would be speculating why he looked up at that particular moment. Was he praying? Exasperated? Annoyed? And then they’d all move on within an hour and focus on something new.  
  
“. . .so now,” Forza said, “here to say a few words, it is my great honor to welcome the man who made this miracle possible: Commander Shepard!”  
  
He stood to roaring applause, letting himself enjoy the moment as much as possible. Even if the whole thing was just a political stunt, some kids would at least get something of a home out of it. He shook the hands of everyone at the table and limped to the holographic podium to speak.  
  
“Thank you, Burrhus,” he said. “But, as I keep pointing out, I’m not “Commander” Shepard anymore. I’m just Shepard, or John, or, as my husband calls me, Pain in the Neck.”  
  
A consolatory giggle trickled through the crowd. Bringing up Garrus made him think of him on his trip to see his mother on Jamone. _I should have gone with him. Hope your day’s going better than mine, hun._  
  


* * *

  
  
**Solana**  
  
She tried to hold herself together as her own conscience warred in her head, a war given voice by Garrus and Pallin a few feet away.  
  
“I can’t believe you support this!” Garrus said, his voice loud enough to fill the gigantic room. “How can you just—just. . .”  
  
“Do you think this is _easy_ for me? That I just shrugged and went ‘okay’ when your mother told me? I was right where you are now, and I would still do anything to keep it from happening if I could.”  
  
“Then don’t give up on her so easily! Research into Corpalis stalled during the War, but it’s getting back on track now. We just need a little more time!”  
  
“Son, she’s made her decision. We are all going to have to accept it.”  
  
Through all the bickering, Xenafor remained silent, her immobile body seated facing them the entire time like an ornament. According to Garrus, that was how she always was when he and Pallin fought: just standing there, silently looking on, until a break in the fighting came and she stepped in to finish it.  
  
Solana had never known her mother outside of her condition. As long as she could remember, her mother was confined to a bed or a chair, her disease getting worse and worse each year. She remembered speaking to her many years ago, when she still spoke with her own voice. When Garrus left his job at C-Sec, it fell on her to take care of their mother, going so far as to rely on the kindness of strangers to get her even basic medical care. Xenafor had only been admitted to the first clinical research trials because an anonymous donor had somehow supplied the salarians with Collector tissue.  
  
She understood her mother’s reasons. She didn’t know if she could live in such a state for her whole life, and the fact that Xenafor had was a testament to her strength—or stubbornness, if nothing else.  
  
But she was her _mother._ How could she just. . .let her go like that? And to accept it like there was nothing wrong?  
  
Garrus turned from his father and knelt by Xenafor’s side. “Mom,” he said, his voice cracking. Solana suddenly realized that she had never seen him cry in her whole life. “There has to be something more we can do. Please don’t give up on me.” He held her hand in his.  
  
The VI came to life behind her. “Your father said the exact same thing. Do you know what I said to him?”  
  
Garrus shook his head, whether in denial of her question or of the whole situation.

  
“I told him that he is a wonderful man, and exceedingly selfish. You take all of the suffering surrounding you, and you inherit it like a birthright, as though all pain was your responsibility to heal and all failure was just an extension of your own. Part of that is culture. But it is also in your blood. I am not giving up on you, Garrus, any more than I am giving up on him, or Solana. I am defeating this disease by not allowing it to rule my life for me. That is the only victory I can expect, short of miracles, and I am taking it.”  
  
Garrus shook his head again, then stood up, wiping his eyes. “Then I’ll get you another victory,” he said. "I'll get you a miracle." He leaned over and kissed Xenafor’s head, a human sign of affection he had learned from Shepard. Then he marched toward the door.  
  
“Where are you going?” Solana asked.  
  
Garrus didn’t stop as he answered. “To find someone.”

* * *

  
  
**Garrus**  
  
His vision kept blurring up as he stormed out of the hospital, pushing past anyone who got in his way. The doctors could have been rushing someone to the OR on a gurney and he would have probably shoved them aside.  
  
He always knew that his mother would one day have to die. The fact that she had survived as long as she did was only possible due to state-of-the-art medicine, and that could only go so far before the disease caught up. But he never expected—never prepared for—her to just. . .give up. Give up any hope of happiness or a future, give up on living. He knew he was being selfish, that he should respect her wishes—there wasn't much he could do to stop her anyway—but the thought of his mother losing her very spirit to this was unacceptable to him. It was nothing short of an injustice.  
  
He activated his omni-tool. No gods were going to provide him with the miracle he needed. There were only two people in the galaxy who he knew firsthand could perform miracles.  
  
He called one of them.  
  


* * *

  
  
**John**  
  
“Ahh, Commander Shepard,” said a familiar voice. Sadly, the brunette human’s face wasn’t as familiar. “Sorry,” the woman said, “ _Mister_ Shepard. Wow, that just sounds wrong. It’s good to see you again. Incredible speech; you really have a knack for public speaking.”  
  
He tried to think of a way around not knowing her name, but came up short. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I meet a lot of people. Remind me who you are, again?”  
  
“Oh, Elspeth Murrain,” she said, extending her hand.  
  
“Ah, that’s right. You were running for a position in the Citadel, right?”  
  
“Zakera Ward city council, yes. Rather bad choice of career path, I suppose, given that there’s no Zakera Ward anymore.” She made an awkward noise that John supposed was meant to be a laugh.  
  
“Yeah, sorry about blowing up your job. So you do philanthropy work for kids now?”  
  
He watched her enter Political Mode, her hands enunciating her every word as she spoke from a mentally rehearsed script. He knew he’d caught her off-guard; of course she wasn’t here for children. Though Murrain seemed more honest than most politicians he’d met, money was still the alter for her golden cow of power, and Toolak was getting ready to put out a lot of money.  
  
“. . .so I said to him, ‘Mister Mayor, think about _the children_ here.’ Because I do always try to think about their best interests; we don’t take kids seriously enough, you know—"  
  
He held up a hand to cut her off. Whatever worm had crawled into his stomach was making its way up to his head; he needed to get away from these hypocrites before he vomited. "Excuse me," he said. "Important things."  
  
He left her with a confused expression and tried to find a spot that wasn't crowded. They were outdoors under a massive glass dome that could survive anything short of an FTL impact, but he still had an uneasy feeling building up in his spine. He reached for a gun, but remembered that he didn't have one in his civvies; combined with his limp, he suddenly felt open, vulnerable to any kind of attack.  
  
He closed his eyes and counted to ten, focusing on his breath. _Easy. Remember, don't relive._ The thoughts came unbidden and unwanted, thoughts of destroyed planets and dead squad mates, ruined opportunities and shattered lives. And the choices, so many choices. He tried to face them down and turn focus elsewhere. The chatter of people clattered in his mind like gunfire; the music that played from some off-world asari band echoed the sirens of Earth as Reapers the size of skyscrapers descended on an unprepared populace. His heart rate doubled in the span of seconds, but he continued his breathing. If he were alone, he would put his head between his knees for twenty seconds to calm the attack, but with all these damn people around, making their noise, he would look ridiculous.  
  
Fifty seconds passed before he felt himself come down. The dim light filtered through the dome in the sky suddenly hurt his eyes. All of his energy felt sapped right out of him, dissipated into deep space. His teeth chattered together as if he were freezing; the harder he tried to keep his jaw shut, the worse the chattering became. He decided to find Forza and make his excuse to be on his way.  
  
He had almost figured out what he wanted to say when his omni-tool beeped. The incoming call was from Garrus—only a select few people knew his private number, and fewer still ever actually called. He took a deep breath and answered.  
  
A small hologram of Garrus materialized above his omni-tool. If Garrus had his own set the same way, he would be viewing Shepard the same way.  
  
"John," the image said, skipping the "hellos." It must have been important. "I need. . .why are you so pale?"  
  
Shit, but loving a former C-Sec detective could be hard sometimes. "It's just the light here. Everyone's pale."  
  
"I've been to Toolak and the light there is fine. You had another attack, didn't you?"  
  
He sighed. Lying to him wasn't going to help things, or deter the inevitable lecture. "Yeah, a few minutes ago. But I'm fine."  
  
"Damn it, John, I'm telling you: _you need to see someone_." Post-traumatic stress disorder is a serious—"

"And I'm telling you: I don't have post-traumatic stress disorder. I'm just exhausted from all the traveling and putting up with political bullshit for a greater cause."  
  
"I've been a cop, a soldier, a vigilante and a lover of female turians. I know post-traumatic stress when I see it and I also know that it doesn't go away without help."  
  
"You've never been to Toolak, you lying bastard."  
  
"No, but I caught you in your lie, didn't I?"  
  
"Are you ever going to get to why you called?"  
  
The Garrus hologram sighed, rubbing its head. "It's. . .I don't want to talk about it on the phone like this."  
  
"Is your mom okay?"  
  
"Yes and no. Do you think you can slip out of your function early to meet me?"  
  
"God, yes. Where do you want to meet?"  
  
"Illium."  
  
 _Why there?_ Illium was hardly a pleasant place for either one of them. The surface was beautiful, but within, the asari corporate world was as corrupt and lawless as Omega. Not to mention the many times they had been shot at there. "Okay," he said, feeling it wise not to ask about Garrus' intentions yet. "When?"  
  
"As soon as you can. On the way, see if you can find anything about someone for me."  
  
"Sure. Who's the guy?"  
  
"Girl, actually. I need to find Miranda Lawson."  
  



	3. Meeting and Reunion

**Archangel**

 

It was finally time. The filth-encrusted streets of Omega were alive with the footfalls of the weak, the weary and the downtrodden; the sick and the helpless; the starving and the dying. And there were the mercenaries, the prostitutes, the drunkards, the murderers and the rapists, the swindlers and the thieves. The humans believed in deities that meted out justice to the criminal and altruism to the righteous; tonight, he would fulfill both roles.

 

At the heart of the asteroid, the nightclub-slash-palace of Afterlife pulsed with the rhythm of constant music that drowned the sound of conscience. Asari dancers entertained clients ranging from human to salarian in corner tables. A turian, passed out in a corner near a fresh puddle of vomit, only grunted slightly when a vorcha slipped his wallet from his pants and skittered off in full view of the club's "security" detail. Many of the nightclub's patrons were armed, though hardly in a fitting state to make use of their guns. 

 

He ignored the stares from patrons and workers alike, focusing on the nightclub's private box, the closest thing to a luxury suite to be found on that hellish station. The batarian guard finally took notice of him and squinted his four eyes as he approached, tightening the grip on his rifle.

 

"Back off," he shouted over the droning noise. The turian guard watching the other staircase turned his gaze on him, a barefaced fool who only cared about the paycheck. He turned his eyes toward the batarian guard, who tried to lock gazes with him through his visor.

 

"You lookin' to die, punk?" The alien said.

 

He ignored him, waiting for the right moment. The radio comm in his helmet activated.

 

"Team Gabriel, in position," the voice said, followed by another.

 

"Team Michael, in position." 

 

"Team Raphael, in position."

 

The comm went silent, which just left him to give the signal. He approached Aria's quarters, trying to pass by the guard.

 

"Hey!" The guard moved to aim his weapon. He never got the chance. An omni-blade passed through his chin and out the back of his head with a sickening crunch noise. Dark red blood spurt out of the exit wound; strange that batarians and humans would have the same blood, what with their histories. The guard collapsed with a gurgle. The turian guard noticed and raised his own weapon, a meager pistol that couldn't hope to penetrate his armor. The guard fired once, twice, three times; the shield deflected all three shots. He raised his own pistol and fired once; the turian fell back with a hole in his head.

 

The crowds had finally noticed the fight, and chaos erupted. Asari dancers stepped over clients' heads as they ran to the exit; passed-out patrons were trampled, and from somewhere in the club, he heard shots fired. Another guard came down the steps with a much more intimidating assault rifle in his arms.

 

This was a lot more fun than he expected.

 

* * *

 

**Aria**

 

Life was great until Cerberus ruined everything. Not even the Reapers had touched the space around Omega, but the Illusive Man just had to go and get ambitious and throw off her entire gig. 

 

Having to reclaim her throne proved one thing to her adversaries: that her throne could be emptied. Nevermind that Cerberus was dead; nevermind that she, with some help from Shepard and Nyreen, cleared them out of Omega herself; a weakness was spotted, and the next five years were spent covering it back up again. The vorcha and the salarians, with their shorter-than-usual lifespans, had already forgotten and moved on; but the other species would remember for decades at best, and centuries at worst.

 

And worst of all was Patriarch.

 

In the span of half a decade, the krogan went from harmless old relic to thriving mob boss, right under her freaking nose. Apparently, someone planted some ideas into Patriarch's ancient head and his "legend" began to spread among krogan adolescents across terminus space. When the vorcha she put in charge of the Blood Pack died, he marched in and demanded to be put in charge—him, with his krogan bodyguards and their psychotic leverage.

 

She was to blame too, though. In part. By keeping him alive, she made him into a statement of her dominance, a rusted old weapon that had been replaced by the newest model. She couldn't kill him now, because that would be an acknowledgement of his threat to her. But letting him run amok with stupid ideas of reclaiming Omega was also unacceptable.

 

Hence their current farce.

 

She made sure to set everything up in her own favor. She held the center seat, slightly elevated to give an appearance of height, the lighting cast in Patriarch's direction to shade her eyes and figure. Aesthetics could change entire perceptions, alter whole situations for the better or the worse. Of course, she would have to rely on far more than aesthetics.

 

"So," Patriarch said, looking around the space like he hadn't seen it in centuries. Which he hadn't. "Last time I sat in here, you took my manhood." The krogan remained standing, back slightly more hunched than most krogan. Even by asari standards, Patriarch was old—his cushy life of being her bitch led to many birthdays. 

 

"And now you want to take it back," Aria said. She crossed one leg over the other. "Adorable. Unfortunately, it shriveled up centuries ago. I fed it to a vorcha."

 

Patriarch snorted, took a few steps forward, then turned and walked back. For all his boasting, she noticed that he never came within a certain distance of her. . .though this was the closest he'd been to her in a long time. He turned again and took the few steps toward her, pointing a finger.

"You're slipping," he said. "Happens to everyone. Hell, happened to me, and look what happened there." He raised his arms to display himself. "That's the beginning of the end, and you know it as well as I do."

 

"I also know that you're an idiot. That kind of sped things along in your case. Me, I figure I have a whole three, four hundred years before I become senile."

 

"This ain't a coup, Aria, much as I'd enjoy it. More like an offer of partnership."

 

She laughed; a legitimate, I-can't-believe-I-just-heard-that-from-you laugh straight from her stomach. When she finished, she took a moment to enjoy the annoyed look on Patriarch's face. 

 

"And what makes you think. . .if you want to call it 'thinking'. . .that I would be interested in something like that? I think I'd prefer the coup."

 

"Like I said, you're slipping. If you think I'm the only one who's noticed, well, your senility may be setting in a few centuries early. I'm not much of a threat to you, but to others. . ."

 

She leaned in slightly. "I have Eclipse, the Blue Suns, and the Blood Pack all working for me. I have an agreement with the Talons to maintain peace— _my_ peace. And without all of them, I still have this." She held up her pinky finger and wagged the tip. "More power in here than you have in the universe, you and the little band of shits you call a mercenary group. I could kill you right now and nobody in the galaxy would bat an eye; you lay a finger on me and Terminus space collapses. I feel pretty well-protected already. Do you?"

 

The krogan grinned, showing off massive, yellow teeth that once could crush a femur, before they went soft with age. "Why, yes, actually. See, I don't think you believe what you're saying. You know everything that goes on on Omega. You've heard the stories, the discontent. Somebody's gonna come up here one day with a gun, and they're gonna have a _lot_ of supporters out there. How can you rule the station if the whole station is against you? That's why you're. . .tolerating my presence right now in your little corner of space, and that's why you haven't killed me already. That, and the fact that you don't want to kill your symbol of victory."

 

She leaned back, prepared to respond, but the sound of a gunshot outside drew her attention. The quick blast was immediately followed by screams.

 

_What good are the Talons if any drunkard can pull a gun in my club?_ She nodded to one of her guards, a batarian, who turned and exited to check the commotion.

 

"At least some things never change," Patriarch said. "Though they were a bit more careful with their guns when I was in charge. Now, where were—"

 

There was a shout from outside, then the batarian came crashing through the door, a charred hole through the front and back of his armor. His head twitched slightly as he lay on the ground, then he fell still. Every gun in the room went up as footsteps signaled someone entering. A turian in full dark blue armor came through the door, stepping over the batarian's body, an omni-blade extended on his right arm. The light of the blade painted a faint orange glow on his dark visor as he looked around the room at the guards, his gaze pausing for a second on Aria.

 

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said. He lifted his omni-blade as he spoke. The guards all cocked their guns at him, but he just continued to disable his omni-blade as though they weren't even there. "As long as I'm here," he said, facing Aria again, "we should talk."

 

She sat back down. The utter brazenness of this clown both enraged and intrigued her. "You could have just made an appointment like everyone else." She gestured to her guards, who lifted their guns again.

 

"I wouldn't do that," the turian said. "I mean, I guess I would, until I was told about the bomb."

 

The guards looked at Aria. She smiled at the stranger. "You should make your lies a little more believable next time."

 

The turian shrugged. "I could be lying. Or you could receive a call in. . ." he checked his omni-tool, "five seconds from your mercenary groups about how their leaders were all just killed. Wanna wait?"

 

She almost ordered him dead when her omni-tool lit up like an eezo core. The first voice was from Gryll. 

 

"Aria, something wrong, enemies—" the vorcha's frantic voice was cut off by that of the overlapping Darner Vosque and Sayn. All she could make out from their noise was chaos peppered with background explosions. As this went on, she directed her attention to the turian mere feet away, standing there as though waiting for a doctor's appointment.

 

She realized that he may be a problem after all. 

 

"Believe me now?" He said.

 

She turned off her omni-tool, infinitely more frustrated than before she turned it on. But she didn't allow her emotions to show. She crossed her legs and casually nodded to the seat next to her. "I guess you should have a seat."

 

"No need," the turian said. " I won't be here long."

 

"I assume you have some kind of request for me, or you wouldn't waste my time with the theatrics."

 

"Don't underestimate the power of drama. A few well-written scenes can topple governments. But yours doesn't have to be toppled. . .just changed."

 

She lifted an eyebrow at him. "In what way?"

 

The turian raised his arms as if to gesture to the whole world. "Do you spend all of your time in this box, or are you just blind? Outside these walls, people are raped and killed over anything and nothing. Nobody comes to this station unless they've committed a crime or they have no choice, and it's the criminals who live off the suffering of the innocent. You," he pointed to her, "have done nothing but enable this. You and your damned mercenaries."

 

She shrugged. "The only business I take care of here is mine. I don't care what others do as long as it doesn't interfere with me. If people don't like it here, they can leave."

 

"No, they can't. You think some stranded quarian can scrounge enough credits to just rent a ship out of here? You think all those asari hookers you have working in this place stay because they enjoy their jobs?"

 

"If you're so concerned with public safety, take it up with the Talons."

 

The turian snorted. "Another mercenary group you've corrupted. They're indistinguishable from the Blue Suns now. They've done nothing since going public. It's been five years since the Reaper War, and while the rest of the galaxy has progressed, we're stuck here in this den of filth no different from cycle before us."

 

"A problem I should make mine because. . .?"

 

"Because you're the one in charge. Because you're the one who can. And because, if you don't, I'll have to."

 

He turned on his omni-tool and started to input some commands. "I'd love to keep up this chat, but I think I've said enough. Consider today a warning, Aria."

 

There was a distant rumble from deep within the station, then the neon lights and blaring noise of Afterlife died. Aria shot up the moment her room went dark, firing a blue wave of biotic energy in front of her. Shots rang out in the darkness, each burst providing a split-second flash of light that revealed her panicked guards. _Idiots._ They were just as likely to hit her as anything else. She saw an omni-blade raise up into the air, then come down in a wave of orange light, followed by a heavy thud on the ground.

 

She ducked behind cover and opened her omni-tool. She relayed a few orders to the Talons and  anyone who may be near the generators to turn on emergency power. A few moments of chaos later, the lights were back on, the music back to its normal rhythmic pulse. 

 

When the shooting finally died down, she stepped from behind her cover, gun at the ready. Two of her guards were dead, but they weren't the reason her heart began to race. On the floor, near where he sat for their meeting, was Patriarch's body. His head rested a few feet away, orange blood splatter marking a link between the two pieces. The turian was gone.

 

"Check the exits," she told the remaining guards, who stared at the krogan corpse like civilian bystanders watching a car wreck. "Now!" That jerked them out of it.

 

There were only two ways out of Afterlife: the front entrance, and the lower levels. The front would be the fastest route to take, but the lower way would be less risky. She tried contacting her mercenary groups, but received only static. Then she tried the Talons.

 

"Aria," came the voice of Rellius Vineer, the leader of the Talons after Nyreen died. "Need something?"

 

Curious that the turian left the primarily turian mercenary group untouched. She made a mental note of that. "I just had a _very_ unwelcome visitor, Vineer."

 

"Would that have to do with the sudden blackout?" He asked. "Our forces are scrambling to fix the problem."

 

"The _problem_ is much more than a simple blackout. Where was your useless security this whole time?"

 

"Where've they always been, Aria. If you'd like, I can send a few men to guard your place. You can tell me what happened."

 

"While you're at it, send a cleanup crew." She hung up and regarded Patriarch. The krogan's death was a message, and its meaning was clear: _I killed your predecessor, and I can kill you._ Though it saved her from her dilemma, once the news got out, the crowds would be whispering, questioning her power. _That was his goal all along._

 

As she pondered the last couple of hours, wondering how she would handle this new threat to her system, she made sure to mentally update her shit-list.

* * *

 

**John**

 

Sitting at a bench overlooking the metropolitan landscape, Illium seemed gorgeous, almost innocent. The orange sun reflected off the multitudes of skyscraper windows as it set, air traffic at a steady, constant stream as people returned to their homes from a day of work. In the distance, supply shuttles from various colonies would occasionally pull in or out of orbit, ships just like the one John took when he first visited Illium as a teenager. Of course, back then, he wasn't the most famous living being in existence.

 

"Ohmygoddess, are you really commander Shepard?!" said the asari girl who stopped in front of his bench. Judging by the way she acted and talked, Shepard guessed she was only about seventy-five, maybe a hundred years old.

 

He braced himself before replying. "Yeah," he said.

 

The asari let out a squee and took a picture of him with her omni-tool. _Don't people even ask anymore?_

 

"Ooh, can you, you know, say it?" She held her hands to her mouth like she was holding in an explosion.

 

"Say what?"

 

"Hahaha! You're as funny as on TV! But come on, pleeeease say it?"

 

He blinked at her a couple of times. Off in the crowd behind her, he made out Garrus' familiar silhouette. The turian spotted him and waved over the crowd.

 

"Sorry," he said, "but I have to go." 

 

The girl pouted. "That's not it," she said, disappointed.

 

"Um. I _should_ go?"

 

The asari squealed again, somehow louder than the first. "He said it! Oh, wait till I tell my friends about this. . ." She skipped off, taking several more pictures of him as she went. 

 

John caught up to Garrus, and could tell that the turian was exhausted. They embraced for a moment. "Hey" was the extent of their conversation; when people began staring and taking pictures of the most-known couple in the galaxy, they stole off to somewhere more private, a room John rented from a very excited hotel clerk.

 

"I do _not_ say 'I should go.' Not that often." Garrus had collapsed on the bed, too tired to even take off his shoes. John sat there next to him, the sight of his scarred face better than the best views Illium could possibly offer. 

 

The turian shrugged his shoulders. "It's practically your catchphrase. Where normal people say 'goodbye,' you say 'I should go.' It's endearing."

 

"It's _inaccurate,_ is what it is."

 

Garrus nodded slightly, his eyes not directed toward anything in particular. "Any luck finding Miranda?"

 

John shook his head. He hadn't heard from her since the Reaper War; he figured she made herself disappear in order to live a normal life with her sister, Oriana. "None of the old contacts work, and not even Hackett had any info on her whereabouts. I'll keep trying."

 

Garrus nodded again, then his mandibles jerked and he put a hand over his eyes. "Mom's given up."

 

John moved in closer. "Hey," he said. "It'll be alright. It will."

 

"I'm sorry," Garrus said in a whisper. "We haven't seen eachother in so long, I don't want to make it a sad situation. . .but. . ."

 

John took Garrus' hand and put his head up against his in the turian version of a kiss. He let Garrus have his moment of grief. 

 

With a sniff, Garrus sat up. "I don't even know what I'm doing, John. How did you. . .? You know, handle it, when your mother. . .I know it's not remotely the same situation. I shouldn't have asked."

 

He shook his head. "It gets better with time," he said. "That's. . .about all I can offer, I'm afraid." Whether it be sudden or gradual, he couldn't imagine losing one's mom as being an easy process. Garrus got to have his mom for longer; did that make it easier or harder, he wondered. "But I'll be here."

 

"I know." Garrus lifted John's hand and kissed his knuckles, his rough lips brushing against skin. "But I'm not ready to accept it yet."

 

John didn't react. The conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn for him; he didn't want to force Garrus into accepting his mother's impending death, but he didn't want the inevitable to crash down on him with no preparation, either. 

 

"Why did you want to meet here?" John asked.

 

Garrus, now standing, booted up his omni-tool. "I figured Miranda would be difficult to find. But there's someone on Illium who knows where she is."

 

John stood up. "You mean Oriana?"

 

"Yes." Garrus' omni-tool beeped. "We helped Miranda relocate her sister before we jumped the Omega-4 Relay. If she still lives here, she'll point us in the right direction."

 

"Are you sure about that? Miranda won't like us visiting her sister. It'll draw too much attention."

 

"What do they have to be afraid of? Their father's dead, and Cerberus is dead with him. Nobody's going to come after them because of us; hell, we should be enough incentive to keep people away, if anything."

 

"Why do you want to see Miranda so bad, anyway?"

 

Garrus sighed as he looked John in the eye. "You won't like it."

 

John steeled himself. Whenever Garrus said something like that, it almost always proved to be true.

 

"Miranda brought you back to life," Garrus said. "It took a while, but she did it. Maybe she can keep my mother from dying. Maybe. . .maybe she can cure her."

 

The subject of death was an uncomfortable one. The subject of _his own_ death was something he tried to avoid, with, he hoped, good reason. And Garrus was right: he didn't like it. "Garrus. . ."

 

His husband raised a hand. "I know, I know. But what if, John? I can't let my mother die when there might be something I can do about it."

 

"But me and your mom. . .we're different things."

 

"You're both the most important people in my life. You're not so different."

 

"What I mean is, I. . .died from a different cause. And just because Miranda did it once, on a human, doesn't mean she can cure any disease in any species. Assuming she'll even be willing to help after we antagonize her sister."

 

"We're not going to _antagonize_ her. Just. . .annoy her a little." Garrus made his way to the door. "You can help me or not, but I'm going."

 

John shook his head. "At least rest a while. When was the last time you slept?"

 

"I'm not tired." Garrus' knee buckled slightly and he almost tripped. "Okay, I'm a little tired. But this can't wait for me to take a nap."

 

"Garrus." John put his arm around him and forced the turian back toward the bed. "Sleep."

 

"But—"

 

"Rest, and I promise I'll go talk to a specialist about my. . .thing. Okay? As soon as we find Miranda."

 

Garrus stared at him for a moment. "I didn't even ask you how you were doing, did I."

 

"No. But your mom is more important than me seeing ghosts."

 

"You're both important. Infinitely, infinitely important." He took John's head in his hand and they kissed for a long moment, sitting on the bed, their tongues meeting halfway. John touched a hand to Garrus' scarred cheek, gently caressing the sensitive tissue. When they broke apart, Garrus lifted his leg and removed one of his shoes. "I'll rest, then. I'll hold you to your promise, though."

 

John took off his own shoes and laid in the spot next to Garrus, glad to finally have a night next to his husband after weeks of being star systems apart. As he watched his turian husband sleep, his mandibles gently rattling to his snores, he tried to keep his thoughts positive and his worries at a minimum.


	4. The Importance of Family

**Garrus**

 

The beeping from his omni-tool woke him up. The dream he was having faded from the second he opened his eyes; within a few moments, all he could remember was that it was a good one. John was still fast asleep, his arm under the pillow.

 

Garrus got up and stepped outside the room, into the hall of the hotel, to answer his call.

 

"What the _hell_ are you thinking?" His dad's voice immediately filtered through. Not even so much as a "hi."

 

"What—"

 

"Garrus," his dad sounded like he was trying to keep from shouting. Probably still in the hospital. "I know you're upset; really, I do, but you don't have to go off and get yourself killed in one of your. . .your. . .vendettas!"

 

"Dad—"

 

"No, you listen to me right now: if I have to go to Omega myself and drag your ass back here, so help me, I'll do it." Pallin took a deep breath on the other end. "What the hell are you thinking?! If you want to get yourself killed, you're on a damn good path right now."

 

"Dad, shut up for a second and listen. I don't know what you're talking about."

 

"And then this whole. . . .what?"

 

"I'm not on Omega. Why would you think I'm on Omega? What do you think I'm doing right now?"

 

"I saw the news, Garrus. About Archangel."

 

Archangel? His vision tunneled for a second. "What about Archangel? Wait; dad, I'm with John right now, on a completely different planet. See?" He set the omni-tool to video mode and poked his arm inside the hotel room, facing John. He hoped he wouldn't have to mention that he was on Illium. 

 

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. ". . .Oh. So you're not, you know, back into old habits?"

 

"Not until you push me there. Now what's going on on Omega?"

 

"They're saying there was an attack. The leaders of the Blue Suns, Blood Pack and Eclipse were all killed, and Aria herself was threatened. There are people on there claiming to be working for Archangel. They're saying he's back from the dead."

 

_Huh._ He didn't know anything about that. He had met the mercenary leaders before—helped them all become the leaders, in fact. But that was in a different time, under far more desperate circumstances. "Good for them," he said. 

 

"What?"

 

"Those mercenaries aren't pushovers, and fucking with Aria. . .well, it doesn't usually go over well. So, good for them. But I'm not involved."

 

"You swear? You would tell me if you were even thinking about going back there, right?"

 

"Well, after seeing your reaction, I'd be less inclined. . ."

 

"Garrus."

 

He sighed. "Yes, of course I'd tell you."

 

"Then what's this new guy about?"

 

"He's probably just an obsessed idiot who's moved on from writing fanfiction to wanting to become the real thing. Like how criminals will sometimes emulate their idols. Or maybe he's really trying to do some good over there. I don't really care; it's not my problem anymore, but if he wants to clean up Omega then all the luck to him."

 

". . ."

 

"You still there?"

 

". . .Sorry. When you left, and then the news, I just assumed. . ."

 

"You, make assumptions? You're getting old."

 

"Hey. Shut up." Pallin cleared his throat. "Where are you two anyway?"

 

"Uh. Sorry, gotta go."

 

"Wha—Garrus—"

 

"TellSolhiformebye." He disconnected and turned the omni-tool to Do Not Disturb mode. 

 

So Archangel was back. He knew he had fans, but never really expected any of them to do something so crazy as assume the identity and go after Aria T'Loak. Whatever. He had more important things to worry about.

 

He went back into the hotel room. John was awake, in the midst of changing shirts, his bare back facing Garrus. He'd learned every muscle and fiber of that back, as well as the rest of his lover's body, like it was an extension of his own self; he knew every pressure point, every zone, where it could handle more weight pressed down upon it, everything. He'd learned by experiencing. 

 

He came up behind John and put his arms around his waist, locking his fingers in front of his stomach. "Good morning," he said. Small pink marks dotted a pattern on John's right shoulder, tracing a distinctly turian dental arch. It was where Garrus had, in an admittedly ill-thought moment of passion, bit down too hard on their wedding night. There had been other scars since, all removed through cosmetic procedure, but John kept this one. It turned Garrus on whenever he saw it. He kissed it and felt his human tense slightly.

 

"Don't make me rent this room another night," John said. "Sleep well?"

 

"Very. It was a good idea. Thank you."

 

"Who called?"

 

"Dad." He let go of John's waist, letting the human finally put his shirt on. "Apparently, someone calling themselves Archangel has shown up on Omega."

 

Shepard put on his shirt and stopped, flabbergasted. "Archangel?"

 

"Yeah. He seems to have it in for Aria. I don't imagine he'll live long."

 

"Who is it?"

 

Garrus shrugged. "How the hell should I know?"

 

"Well, you're kinda the original, and I just thought. . ."

 

"I hung up that cape a long time ago. Some human came and blew up my face and married me, remember?" He gave John a playful shove. "Let's get going. We've been delayed long enough."

 

* * *

 

 

**John**

 

The apartment seemed unassuming enough, for a woman designed to be genetically perfect. Like Miranda, Oriana had been bred in a pitri dish by their crazy father in his obsession to have the perfect daughter. And, like Miranda, she rebelled against him, all the way up until his death on Horizon. Few people deserved it more. 

 

"How do we know she's even still here?" John asked.

 

"By knocking." Garrus' mood deteriorated from his cheerful morning, getting darker as they got closer. He did his best to give him the space he needed, but it was difficult seeing him like this. Garrus hadn't shown this kind of stubborn determination since his hunt for Sidonis six years before, and that wasn't a state John wanted to return to. Garrus seemed to brush off Archangel's apparent return, but certain worries nagged at the back of John's mind, namely whether the new Archangel had any clue as to the original's identity. The only ones who knew were himself, Garrus' father, and the crew of the Normandy SR-2, half of whom were dead. And Liara. But Liara knew everything.

 

They buzzed the intercom. Several long seconds passed. Just as Garrus reached for the button again, the screen came on. Oriana's face projected on the screen. Since they were made from the same genetic material, the only thing that distinguished Oriana from Miranda was the length of her dark hair and a certain smile in her eyes that Miranda never seemed to possess.

 

"Yes, can I. . .Commander Shepard?" Her eyes bugged out. "One moment." Within seconds, the door flung open. Oriana looked at him like he was a long-lost relative, barely noticing Garrus. "What are you doing here? I mean, it's great to see you, but. . ."

 

He looked at Garrus. _Showtime._

 

Garrus cleared his throat and waved. "We're here for me, actually. I was kinda hoping you knew where your sister was."

 

Oriana looked at him for a moment. "Hold on," she said. "I know your name, just. . .Garrus, right?"

 

"That's right."

 

"Yes, well, you're in luck. She's here right now."

 

"Really?" John asked. Could something truly be so simple for once?

 

"Yeah, come on in." She opened the door and let them into her home, a widely-spaced apartment with plenty of room for a family. "The kids are with their father; today's mommy's day off."

 

She led them to her living room. They denied her offers of food and drink. "Miranda's been busy since the War ended. She only comes home a couple of times a month, and she spends most of that time sleeping. She's upstairs right now; I can wake her up if you like."

 

Garrus moved to speak first, but John cut him off. "No need to wake her up; we can wait, if that's okay with you." He looked at Garrus and tried to communicate his thoughts to him. _No need to make Miranda cranky._

 

"Actually," Garrus said, in a voice that struck John as all-too-innocent, "don't you have an appointment to get to, _dear_?"

 

Apparently, his attempt to psychically communicate with his husband failed. Maybe that was a ten-year thing. "Nothing so important as this, _darling._ "

 

"No, I remember, you promised you'd go. So go; I can handle everything here."

 

Oriana looked at the two of them like she was watching a ping-pong match, and now it was John's turn to swing. He yielded instead. "All right. Call me wen you're finished here." He kissed Garrus on the cheek and bid farewell to Oriana, who seemed disappointed to see him go. 

 

He tried to keep himself from being annoyed at Garrus' annoyance. He was losing his mother, after all. The loss of his own mother made him hostile toward everyone he met for a long time; anger was one of the five steps, and it was a strong one. Still, he hoped Garrus wouldn't spend as much time in that stage as he had—for both their sakes.

 

* * *

 

 

"Sorry about that," Garrus said after John left. He strangely felt better about doing this on his own. "He never keeps track of his own schedule anymore."

 

Oh," Oriana said, noticing him for the first time since he'd been there. "I hope he's doing okay. . ."

 

"He's fine. I'm sorry for the suddenness, but I really need to speak to your sister."

 

She nodded and looked up the stairs. "I'm sure she'll be glad to see you after all this time. She's much less uptight now; I think serving on the Normandy with you guys had something to do with that. Well, that and our father out of the way."

 

_And I thought I had problems with my dad._ As much as he used to complain about his father, the multitude of daddy issues on the Normandy, ranging from Miranda's psychotic sperm donor to Thane and his killer son, made his problems with Pallin seem the subject of a teen soap opera. He'd certainly never wanted his father dead. 

 

Well.

 

Oriana went up the stairs. About five minutes later, Miranda came down. He knew it was Miranda because she was fully dressed (by Miranda standards, at least) and had a gun strapped to her hip.

 

_This is "less uptight" now?_

 

Garrus stood when he saw her. She stopped where she was on the stairs. Despite having just been woken up, her black hair wasn't a strand out of place. John's hair would have been a wild bird's nest. "Why are you here?" She said in her Australian accent. 

 

Garrus raised his arms. "Whoa, I come in peace, Miranda."

 

"Shepard's not with you?"

 

"He left. Had an appointment."

 

"What kind? Doctor? Has he been sick lately?" She crossed the remaining steps with fluid ease, never taking her eyes off Garrus. Her hand hovered close to her firearm the whole time. _What's making her so paranoid?_

 

"Um," he didn't want to just give out John's personal information. "Just a routine thing. No big deal."

 

She didn't answer him. They stood at an uncomfortably close proximity, in an even more uncomfortable silence that he was desperate to break.

 

"I, um, heard you've been busy?"

 

She jumped on his sentence. "Who told you that?"

 

"Your sister." Why had Oriana stayed upstairs? Did Miranda tell her not to come back down?

 

Miranda finally looked away, visibly annoyed. "She talks too much." She looked back up. "I assume you're not here to catch up?"

 

"No." He cleared his throat and prepared himself. "I actually need your help."

 

She moved into the living room and sat down. She didn't offer him a seat. "With what?"

 

"It's. . .I know it's a lot to ask of you, but you're the only one who can do this, and. . .it's about my mother."

 

He took a seat. "She's sick. She has Corpalis, a disease that—"

 

"I know what it is."

 

"Right. Well, despite breakthroughs in research and treatment, she's getting worse. She's had it for most of my life, and now she's giving up. She's going to die."

 

"I'm very sorry for your loss." On a dime, her expression turned from barely interested to empathetic. 

 

"Well, that's why I need you." _Here goes._ "You brought John back from the dead. Is there anything—anything at all—that you can do to help my mother's condition?"

 

She sat silent for several moments, not making a sound. Was she considering? Or just trying to find a polite way to tell him no? 

 

"There's nothing I can do about her condition, Garrus."

 

"But—"

 

"What's more," she said, "I did not bring Shepard back to life. I had a dedicated and discreet team that I managed, and together we eventually returned Shepard to a functioning state. That team is now dead. My knowledge of anatomy is primarily human; I would not know how to make your mother comfortable, let alone stop or reverse her decline. Finally, even if I had the knowledge and the resources, bringing Shepard back cost hundreds of billions of credits provided by the Illusive Man, money that not even you possess. I'm sorry."

 

"If your old team's dead, hire a new team!" He stood up. "Hire turian doctors if you don't know the anatomy! If bringing a human back to life is within your ability, then how hard can curing a living turian woman's disease possibly be?"

 

She shook her head. "This is exactly why we never let news of Shepard's death get out. If the general population knew that a man—any man, no matter how important—was brought back from the dead, everyone in the galaxy would clamor to bring their loved ones back to life, or back from the brink. They wouldn't understand that _it's not at all that simple._ "

 

"So it's importance, then? My mother isn't as important as Shepard, or whatever project you have going on right now? You never _had_ a mother; you couldn't possibly understand what it means to protect your parent, to want them to live long and happy lives. . ."

 

Her gaze trailed off into space. His shot about her lack of a parent didn't seem to phase her at all. "Actually," she said after a moment, "what I'm working on now. . .it's a long shot, but. . ."

 

"What?"

 

"I can't tell you what I'm working on," she said. "But there are certain. . .concepts I can take from it and apply to your mother, theoretically. But I would still require funding."

 

"I'll pay whatever you need." Whatever she was working on, it gave his mother some hope. If he had to go bankrupt, it was worth it. John would understand.

 

She shook her head. "You could pay me twice whatever you have now and it wouldn't be enough for the salary of a single doctor on my team. If you can find some way to pay for it, then I can give it a try; but even then there is no guarantee, Garrus. I can't make any promises that your mother will improve; in fact, we may end up killing her faster. Are you sure you want to take that chance? You may just be giving her, and yourself, more false hope."

 

He had to try it. If it didn't work, then he was truly out of options—no matter how painful his mother's death would be, at the very least, he would have done _everything_ he could. He nodded.

 

"Then I have two more conditions," she said.

 

"Name them."

  
"First, I have to complete the project I'm currently working on. I don't know how long that will take, but I'm expecting no longer than a year."

 

A _year_?! He would have to convince his mother of holding on for that long?

 

"Second," she said, "if you _ever_ make any sort of attempt to discover what it is I'm working on, if you ever try to get the information from the Shadow Broker or any other source, the entire deal is off, permanently. I _cannot_ have this jeopardized, do you understand? Not for you, your mother, or anyone."

 

Again, he nodded. "Honestly, I don't care what you're working on, only that you finish it as soon as possible."

 

She nodded back. "In the meantime, I'll see if I can do anything to take on your mother's case as well, provided you can find a source of funding. Again, no promises."

 

"Thank you, Miranda." His chest deflated; he felt like he'd been relieved of a massive tumor that had been crushing his spirit for years. The money would be difficult to come by, but perhaps he could exploit a few old connections. If push came to shove, he could always rob a government or two.

 

"Tell Shepard I said 'hi.'" She stood up and went back up the stairs without another word. He heard a door slam, then Oriana came back down, looking nervous. "Um, how'd it go?" She asked.

 

"Better than I could have hoped. Thank you for letting me see her." He made for the door. "I should go," he said. _Damn, now I'm saying it._

 

Oriana bid him goodbye and closed the door once he left. As he exited the apartment complex, he made a phone call to John, happy to give a little good news.

 

* * *

 

 

**Miranda**

 

The darkness of her room was punctured by the dull orange glow of her omni-tool. "False alarm," she said. An annoyed voice responded from the other line.

 

"You told us Shepard was there! Do you know how hard it is to assemble that fast?"

 

"I was wrong. And I'm fully aware of the difficulties of your job; that's why I pay you to do it."

 

"Do you want us to take out the husband?"

 

"No. As of right now, they're both harmless. Stand down and I'll update you when I need to." She hung up the omni-tool and laid back in her bed. She was glad for not having to need the assistance; for a moment, she feared that everything had come undone. 

 

She spent years without a family, protecting her sister from the shadows. Shepard had saved her—saved them both, and given her the opportunity to finally have her family. But, retired or no, Shepard was a dangerous man, and Garrus would only multiply that danger for him, given the chance. She had to keep protecting Oriana. No matter the threat. That much she could understand, despite what Garrus believed.

 

She took off her clothes and returned to her spot under the covers. For the first time in her life, she felt like she would be sick.


	5. Matriarch Wisdom

**John**  
  
He didn't book an appointment immediately. With the midday traffic picking up, he made a detour that just so happened to land him in Eternity, the local bar and nightclub that linked him with plenty of danger back in the day.  
  
The place wasn't nearly as loud as Afterlife or Purgatory had been, but it was also smaller than the other bars. Asari table dancers entertained various patrons, just as he always remembered it, but there seemed to be fewer asari customers around the area. The War had drastically affected asari businesses and economies; not even Illium was beyond reach.  
  
"Well, look who the thresher maw dragged in," he heard a familiar ragged voice say. Behind the bar, serving drinks like it was still 2185, was Matriarch Aethyta, Liara T'soni's father.  
 John approached her and took a seat. "I thought you'd moved up in the galaxy," he said. "Definitely didn't expect to see you here."  
  
"I gotta get away from politics and pandering every once in a while," she said. "Watching people get drunk off their asses is quite therapeutic. On that note: what're you havin'?"  
  
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were still spying on me."  
  
"It's a good thing you know better, because that'd be a very stupid thing to say. If I was spying on you, you wouldn't have caught me. Now, are you going to order or what?" She leaned slightly over the counter to look at his waist. "You've gotten fat."  
  
He ordered a mild drink and took a handful of peanuts. Blue bowl, of course. The nuts in the red bowl would kill him.  
  
Aethyta returned with the drink and set it down in front of him. "Heard from Liara lately?" He asked her.  
  
"No, but I haven't even been able to hear my own thoughts until recently, what with the crazy shit that's been going on." She looked at his waist, leaning slightly over the counter.  
  
He cocked a brow at her. She stopped cleaning a glass for a moment.  
  
"How can you of all people possibly not know what's happening in the galaxy? You caused most of it, for god's sake!"  
  
"I made it a point to stop following politics after the War."  
  
"Well, allow me to give you a recap of the state of the galaxy: the batarians—all ten of them—are pissed at the humans for not throwing you in jail for blowing up their system; the turians are pissed at the krogan for repatriation demands; the quarians are pissed at the Council for taking too long to get them back to Rannoch; everybody's pissed at the asari because, let's face it, we deserve it; and don't even get me started on the salarians."  
  
"Who's pissed at the salarians?"  
  
"Other salarians, mostly. Since Dalatrass Dustcooch withheld aid in the War because you wouldn't let them commit genocide, entire salarian worlds are practically seceding from the government. If we didn't just have a war to end all wars, there'd be a civil one to deal with right now."  
  
"Wow." Good thing he turned down the role of human Councilor after the War ended.  
  
"Yeah. 'Wow.' It's like we're all one big crappy family again."  
  
"I'll be sure to let the galaxy burn next time. At least you got the Relays up and running."  
  
"Yeah. Funny how teetering on the brink of apocalypse makes people see things from your perspective, ain't it? We're still working on some Relays, namely the ones leading to useless systems with few resources. The races had their collective heads pulled out of their asses just long enough for a breath of fresh air."  
  
John finished his drink. "How much do I owe you?" He asked.  
  
"Seventy-two thousand, four-hundred and eight credits." He started to laugh, but her face was dead serious.  
  
"For one drink?!"  
  
"The drink, the advice, the years of repairing the Relays you broke, and the privilege of knowing my daughter. And don't forget the tip; anything less than twenty percent and I'll poison you in your sleep."  
  
He shook his head, smiling as he paid the outrageous sum. "I don't recall there being any advice," he said.  
  
"I don't recall you asking for any, but you look like you need it."  
  
His omni-tool beeped. "That's probably Garrus. I should. . . I mean, I'll see you later."  
  
"Not likely." She returned to cleaning her glasses.  
  
John rushed to get outside of the bar in time to answer, nearly tripping over an angry Volus in the process. He was able to answer on the fifth beep. "Hey," he said into the piece. "How'd it go? Did she agree to help you?"  
  
"I think you have me confused with someone else," said a familiar old voice, one he hadn't heard in years.  
  
"Admiral?"  
  
"It's been a while, Shepard," Admiral Steven Hackett said. "Got a minute to talk?"  


* * *

  
**Aethyta**  
  
She watched him leave, cleaning out the same glass the entire time. _Poor bastard._  
  
"Hey, lady," shouted one of the patrons, a salarian who, by her count, had been sitting there for twenty minutes. "You gonna get to serving us or what?"  
  
"Up yours. I don't even work here."  
  
She set the glass down in front of the salarian, dirty rag and all, and retrieved her pistol from under the counter.  
  
As if keeping up with the construction of the new Relays wasn't enough, she had to keep an eye on Shepard too. Since the human apparently didn't know how to sit still, that meant hopping from one system to the next, all while remaining inconspicuous. Five years of this bullshit. It would have been so much easier if she could get in touch with Liara, but the girl hid her tracks well, wherever she was. _Daddy's little girl._  
  
Based on what she was seeing, she didn't expect to have to follow Shepard much longer. Whether or not she would need her pistol when that time finally came would be up to him. She didn't expect to need it; the man was reasonable, after all. Still, she kinda wished she had a bigger gun, just in case.

* * *

  
  
**Solana**  
  
Pulling away from her mother's deathbed was both hell and relief at the same time. The combined forces of losing her mother along with Garrus and their father's constant arguing over the matter left her physically and emotionally exhausted. When she slept, she had dreams of a turian woman in a wheelchair, still able to laugh and speak and hold her youngest child in her lap. When she awoke and reality set in, that woman was gone forever.  
  
She didn't bother calling Garrus. Wherever he was, he was doubtless getting very drunk or staying in some club loud enough to keep him from thinking. If he wasn't married, she'd expect him to be in some new fling's bed by now; maybe Shepard would become the new—  
  
She shook her head. _Stop it. He's just as torn up about this as you._ But he had never exactly been there for them. He sent as much money as he could to pay for their mother's treatment when he worked for C-Sec, but after his first mission with Shepard, he ended up falling out with their father and quitting, never even saying "bye" to his own sister, off to wherever on his pleasure cruises. The only reason they had been able to keep up the treatment was by sheer luck and the kindness of strangers. She never got over being left alone with their parents, though she would never tell him that. If he left her alone again, though, she just might.  
  
When the time came to return to Palaven to complete her semester (which was more difficult than she let on to her mom), she hugged her father at the entrance to the hospital.  
  
"Call me when. . .you know," she said. "I want to be here for her at the end."  
  
"I will. Be careful."  
  
"Don't worry about me, dad."  
  
He smiled, his head drooping slightly. "I always worry." Ever since the War, her father always looked so _tired_. Gone were the days of the C-Sec Executor who could work eighteen-plus hours in one shift; now he was just a man trying to keep his family together. Of course, that's not how Garrus saw it.  
  
The weather, as always, was gorgeous, so she looked down at the vast green expanse the whole cab ride over to her flight. Palaven wasn't without its beautiful sights, but the silver plant life there just wasn't as vibrant as the green-leaf trees of other worlds. Plus, she wasn't going home to sight-see; the only things she'd be seeing were the words on datapad screens and the insides of a few cadavers.  
  
Her shuttle offworld was commercial. It would take them from Jamone to the system's Relay, which would jump them to the Trebia System. She sat back in her seat, which, being first class, was more spacious than the others. A perk of Garrus' newfound fame was the sheer amount of money he brought in; it allowed them to afford certain luxuries. Their whole family could be secure for the rest of their lives, and she wouldn't even have to finish school. She opened her eyes at that. Where had these thoughts come from? She wasn't getting bored with medicine, was she? She took her datapad out of her bag and opened up chapter twenty-seven of Caelax's Service, waiting until it was time for liftoff.  
  
A turian sat in the seat in front of hers, fidgeting like a child. The seat belts light came on and a gentle hum reverberated through the shuttle. The turian turned around and glanced at her, smiling sheepishly. "Hate this part," he said. He had red markings that she didn't recognize.  
  
"You're afraid of flying?" She'd never heard of such a thing. Flight was integral to civilization.  
  
"No, just this part of it. The. . ." he waved his hand in a circular motion. "The force of liftoff. Always feels like my stomach's gonna jump out of my mouth. I'm fine when we're out of the atmosphere, but before then. . .sorry in advance if my fears come true this time."  
  
"Just lean back and close your eyes. It might help to raise your arms, like on a ride."  
  
"Heh. Won't I look ridiculous."  
  
"Yeah, but would you rather look ridiculous with your arms up or with vomit on your lap?"  
  
"Good point."  
  
The engine revved way back in the back, and the shuttle began liftoff. The g-force the stranger talked about pressed on her like normal, but as she looked over at the other turian's face she saw his eyes clenched shut.  
  
"Screw it," he said. He lifted his arms up in the air. Solana suppressed a laugh as he took it like a roller coaster ride. When the shuttle evened out and the pressure lessened, he set his arms down with a big sigh.  
  
"That really did help," he said, turning back to her. "I'm gonna have to remember that in the future. Thanks, lady."  
  
"No problem. Are you heading to Palaven too?"  
  
He snorted. "Not really. Hey, since you helped me out, I'll return the favor, huh? Just remember this: Don't freak out."  
  
"Huh? Freak out about what?"  
  
"Well," the turian unfastened his belt and stood, stretching. Solana noticed something in his hand. "I'm a reasonable guy, right? But my buddies, they see someone freak out, then they freak out, and it just never ends well for anyone involved. So, don't freak out."  
  
A crash shook the entire shuttle, causing the turian to grab onto her seat to keep his balance. Solana saw the object in his hand: a serrated knife small enough to conceal but sharp enough to pierce most species' hides. Other passengers shouted in surprise as they got lurched around.  
  
"Well," the said. "They've never been so forceful before. New driver, I think. Anyway, I'm Drineax, and I'm gonna need you to stand up now. Slowly." He pointed the knife at her throat lazily, like he was bored from having to do this many times. Time slowed down as Solana processed what was going on. She blinked a few times.  
  
"Come on," he said. "It's scary, I know. Close your eyes if it helps. I don't think raising your arms will do anything for you here, but you can try if you like. Here," he reached over her lap and unbuckled her safety belt, then gestured with the knife for her to stand.  
  
"What—" she began, then a crash came from the front of the shuttle. She looked at Drineax like he was crazy. He smiled, as if to confirm it. Screams started coming in from the front, with passengers clamoring into the back to get away from some threat. Two batarians in Blue Suns armor crossed the curtain, assault rifles at the ready.  
  
"Drin," one of them said. "You were supposed to have this half taken care of!"  
  
"I got distracted!" Drineax replied. "This one goes." He pointed at Solana with his knife, looking back at her. _Don't freak out_ , he mouthed. "Give me a damn gun already. I can't hold up a shuttle with a kitchen utensil, no matter how good I am."  
  
The batarian rolled his eyes, all four of them, as he handed Drineax a pistol. He put the knife away and aimed the pistol at her instead. "I really don't want to force you more than I have to, miss, because you're nice and I hate for bad things to happen to nice people, but if you don't stand up and come with me then I'll have to get ungentlemanly."  
  
"You—" she swallowed. Her voice shook horribly. "Gun. You won't use that in here." If a bullet pierced the hull. . .  
  
"Yeah, stupid idea, huh? I guess I'd better make sure to aim just ri—" He pointed the gun upwards and fired, making Solana jump out of her seat. A small hole ripped through, exposing the blackness beyond; she could hear the fierce hiss of oxygen escaping into the vacuum of space. "Oops," he said innocently. He took an earplug out of his pocket and plugged up the hole. "That should do it. Up and at 'em."  
  
She decided not to push him. _Do what they say. That's what you have to do in these situations, isn't it?_  
  
Of course, she had one trick up her sleeve that only her father knew. . .well, her father plus one other person. But if she used _that_ , the shuttle could be destroyed in the process. . .and if not, then they will likely no longer want to take her hostage. They'd just kill her instead.  
  
She left her things in her seat and followed Drineax into the aisle. The batarians were leading other passengers out at gunpoint: one turian besides her, two salarians, two humans and one whimpering asari. The asari had her hands bound to prevent her from using any biotic power; the others walked with their hands behind their head.  
  
Drineax didn't point his gun at her; there was no point. She had nowhere to run, after all.  
  
"Where are we going?" She asked. Her knees felt weak; she had been trained in self-defense during her military training, but Drineax probably had as well. She'd never been kidnapped before.  
  
"You got a job?" He asked her. She shook her head.  
  
"Student?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Well, good news is, you don't have to worry about finals anymore. We're going to be meeting my boss; if she likes you, you're in with the Blue Suns. Simple, eh?"  
  
"And where is your boss?"  
  
As he lead her through the shuttle's airlock into another, much larger ship's cargo hold, she thought she could hear him snickering behind her. "Omega," he said.


	6. Father Figures

**Garrus**

 

"Hackett?" The name made Garrus stop in his tracks. They hadn't heard a word from Admiral Hackett since he presided over their wedding five years prior.

 

"Yeah," John said through the omni-tool. "Apparently, he wants to speak with me."

 

"About what?" 

 

"He just wants to catch up."

 

"You know he wants something from you." Top-ranking officials didn't call their top soldiers from out of nowhere "just to catch up." Garrus respected the Admiral, even liked him; but his unwavering intensity during the War revealed a level of stark cynicism in the man that Garrus never would forget, a cold contrast to Admiral Anderson. Hackett was an "at any cost" type of person, which practically made him a turian; ironic, considering his service in the Relay 314 Incident. 

 

"Still," John said, "I'd better show up. I'm glad Miranda agreed to help."

 

"Yeah," Garrus said. "Except now I have to figure out how to pay for it. I don't suppose anybody owes us to the tune of a billion some-odd credits?"

 

"Afraid not. We'll think of something, Garrus, don't worry. I'm sure I can extort the Council for some cash if I need to. If push comes to shove, we can try contacting Kasumi."

 

John was being facetious, but Garrus liked the idea of Kasumi stealing some priceless work of art for them. Knowing the best thief in the galaxy had to pay off somehow. 

 

Garrus' omni-tool beeped, an alert from their bank. "What the. . ." he said as he read the staggering figure. " _Seventy-two thousand credits_ at Eternity?! Did you buy the whole bar?!"

 

"Um. I should go."

 

"No, you should stay and explain this sh—"

 

"Sorrygottagobyeloveyou!" Then the omni-tool beeped and the call disconnected. Garrus stared at it for a moment in sheer disbelief, the number floating in transparent light, before giving up. He laughed, harder than he intended, harder than he had in what felt like a long time. The money wasn't really a problem, in the grand scheme of things, and he finally got to have a moment with John that was just pure _nice,_ with no shadow of death and depression to hang over it. _Dad probably didn't feel that way when I hung up on him. . .Dad!_ He'd completely forgotten! 

 

He opened the omni-tool back up and called his father's number. A dreary-sounding Pallin answered. Garrus didn't even think to check on what time it would be on Jamone; his parents were probably fast asleep. Oh well.

 

"Dad," he said, "it's me. Do you have a minute?"

 

"Is it a minute I could put better use to sleeping?"

 

Garrus debated about whether or not he should tell him; he would be cranky enough as it is. _Came this far._

 

"I think I found a way to help mom," Garrus said.

 

There was a long pause on the other end. "Hold on," Pallin finally said. Garrus heard some shuffling from the other end of the line, the sound of his father getting out of a chair or possibly his wife's deathbed. A minute passed before he spoke again.

 

"I didn't want your mother to hear this conversation," his father said finally.

 

"I know what you're thinking, but—"

 

"It doesn't matter what I think, but what your mother thinks! And she's tired of having her heart broken by false hopes and miracle cures, Garrus!"

 

"This is different!"

 

"So was the last treatment, and the one before that, and the one before that, and on and on since she was diagnosed twenty years ago."

 

"Will you at least let me explain myself? And relay the information to her?"

 

"Garrus. . ."

 

He inhaled deeply. "Please?" Saying that word was hard.

 

Pallin gave a long, frustrated sigh on the other end. "It won't help."

 

"Listen. Do you remember back in 2183, after John was declared KIA?"

 

"Yes, that's when you got drunk, quit your job and ran off to Omega for two years."

 

"Yes, well. I can't really explain very much to you over the phone, but. . .do you remember the official explanation they gave when he showed up again in 2185?"

 

"Yes, he was on some top-secret Spectre mission for the Council and was declared dead as a strategic maneuver."

 

"Well, the official explanation isn't true."

 

"No kidding. Politicians lie? This revelation will devastate the Galaxy. What does this have to do with your mother?"

 

"John was. . ." he tried to think of a way to explain that Pallin's son-in-law was risen from the dead. ". . .Let's just say he was very, very sick."

 

"With what?"

 

"Some human disease; don't remember the name. The important thing is, this disease, it's pretty universally considered to be incurable. He was cured in two years, dad—incurable to completely, ahm, symptom-free in two years. I made an agreement with the woman in charge of his case."

 

"You remember an awful lot about this disease, despite not remembering its name."

 

"Turians get it too."

 

"Then what do _we_ call it?"

 

_Shit._ He'd walked right into that one. Everything he learned about being a detective, he'd learned from his father; though he was retired and getting old, his mind was still sharper than almost anyone else's, a fact that continuously annoyed Garrus even when he was admiring the man. "You're missing the point, dad. This woman, her name is Miranda, knows what she's doing; I personally served with her on the Normandy. She saved my life more than once as well. She might be able to _cure_ mom. Think of it: not a prolonging of decline, not a three-month extension of life, but a _cure._ Do you really think she wouldn't prefer to live without the disease at all?"

 

Another long pause followed from the other end. Garrus could practically see his father's mandibles clicking together. 

 

". . .A cure?. . .That would be. . ." He mumbled something that Garrus couldn't quite hear. "But it's. It's just not possible. Is it?"

 

"Trust me, if she could cure John, she can cure mom."

 

". . . Damn it to all hells. And she'll do this for free?"

 

"Don't worry about cost; I have that taken care of. All we need to worry about is getting mom on board; Miranda may need a year before she can get started."

 

"Oh, Garrus. I wish you said that from the beginning."

 

"Why?"

 

Pallin sighed. "Your mother signed a DNR today."

 

" _What?!"_ If his mother crashed or went into shock or just stopped breathing in her sleep, the doctors would be unable to do anything to save her, by her own orders. "Have her un-sign it! Get it waived somehow! There has to be a loophole!"

 

"The only way to invalidate a DNR is if she's determined not to be of sane state of mind at the time of signing," Pallin said.

 

"She's suicidal! She can't be expected to—"

 

"Stop right there. I am not about to make the argument that she's lost her mind when her mind is literally all she has left."

 

"But—"

 

"Enough. I'll talk to her, tell her what you told me, and we'll see what she says. In the meantime, perhaps you should come back and speak to her about it. . .even if it's just to hear her say no, come see your mother. Please."

 

Garrus froze. As hard as "please" was for him, he knew that, for his father, it was ten thousand times harder. _I'm so close. So damn close._ If his mother refused treatment in addition to the DNR, there was no way she would survive long enough for Miranda to even get started. He had to convince her to rescind the DNR. "I will. I'll come now."

 

"Good. Is there anything else?"

 

"No, go back to bed. And. . .thanks for listening."

 

". . .You're welcome. Oh, Garrus."

 

"Hm?"

 

"Have you heard from Solana by any chance? She should have touched down in Palaven a couple of hours ago, but she never called me."

 

"She's a big girl now, dad. You don't have to check on her every minute of every day on every planet; she probably just didn't want to wake you up, or she had to get to class, or whatever."

 

"Yeah, I know. It's not my fault you little bastards grew up when I explicitly told you not to."

 

"When did you tell us that?"

 

"When you were born. You can't honestly tell me I have no precedent for worrying."

 

Garrus chuckled. That much, at least, was true. Even he worried about Solana from time to time, but he felt odd looming over her shoulder. She took care of herself in the War and took care of their family even longer. More likely, she should be the one worrying about him.

 

"I'll try and get a hold of her," Garrus said. "Hopefully she's not in a. . .sensitive situation."

 

Pallin groaned. "Spirits of all galaxies, don't even joke about that."

 

"About what? I meant class."

 

"Good night, you little shit."

 

"Good night."

He disconnected, suddenly aware of where he was. The walkway was lightly crowded with people heading to and from work, shopping booths peppered here and there selling items of questionable legality. A glass barrier along the edge of the walkway separated passers from the intimidating drop. Garrus took a moment to lean on that barrier and look out at the world he was on.

 

Illium was a place of corruption and soullessness, but it was also a place of beauty. Never in his life had he expected to see such a place. How many planets had he been to in his years of service? How many things had he seen? How many things had tried to kill him? He could have had a solid, stable life on the Citadel working for his father, perhaps taking his place as Executor if he proved himself, but instead he was here. On Illium. A stop in the road. All because of John. 

 

He realized that John probably wasn't even on the planet anymore. He had one night and one morning with his husband, the first in. . .too long, and he spent it moping and being an ass. He owed John something special for putting up with him. But for now, until their lives settled down a bit and they could breathe together, he had to go back to Jamone to save his mom.

 

* * *

 

 

**John**

 

In his entire life, John had set foot on Earth exactly five times. The home of humanity had never been a real home to him; more like a big city one passed through on their way to the quiet countryside. His shuttle passed through multiple checks and dodged several fields of debris and satellites, some of which were hundreds of years old; the blue oceans of the planet below dwarfed their size several million times over.

 

Mindoir hadn't been too different. Smaller, and much, much less crowded, but from the atmosphere, one would look down and see an endless expanse of oceans and swirling storms and green-brown landmasses. It was when you got down to see the details that the planets became complete strangers. Earth was covered in buildings, spires that towered miles into the sky, air traffic so thick that it clogged, much like the ground traffic that was also below. Mindoir, on the other hand, was little more than a bunch of small settlements surrounded by natural regions of mountains, fields, and plains—primitive, by some Earth standards. Nearly twelve billion people lived on Earth, not all of them human; Mindoir's population never hit more than ten million.

 

The last time he was on Earth, the galaxy had been changed forever. By him. And he had been in a coma.

 

The planet still hadn't fully recovered from the effects of the War. Cultural monuments centuries old were lost, entire cities razed to the ground, and world leaders either destroyed or indoctrinated beyond hope of recovery. Leaders could be replaced, structures could be rebuilt, and, in time, they could regain all they had lost. But for now, Earth was still in intensive care. 

 

The ship docked, and a military escort saluted him as he disembarked from the ship onto a wide hangar. Hackett was there, waiting for him, in Alliance uniform as always. The men shook hands. 

 

"Don't you have better things to do than meet me?" Shepard asked. "Like run the world?"

 

"The world can wait a minute," Hackett replied. "It's in good hands. I see civilian life has been treating you well," he pointed at Shepard's stomach. "That better be padding I see there, soldier."

 

"I might have let myself go a little," Shepard said. "You look as old as ever, sir."

 

"I'm afraid I'll start feeling it at any moment. This way." 

 

He led Shepard through several security checkpoints and an elevator ride up several flights. Along the way, servicemen and women beheld Shepard with wide eyes, some of them forgetting to stand at attention for Hackett until the Admiral's glare hit them. When they reached the Admiral's office, a space big enough for a large apartment, Hackett led Shepard to a window-side desk and beckoned him to sit. Through the window, he could see down to the ground below; they were in Vancouver, but the city looked much different from the metropolitan oasis it had once been. Dust and debris had been cleared from the ground, but new greenery had only just begun sprouting up from the surface. There was no road traffic because there were no roads; occasional skycars buzzed through, but most traffic was military.

 

"When I first came here," Hackett said, noticing Shepard's admiration of the environment, "they told me that not even President Huerta had such an office. Sometimes, I'd rather have the old bunker space back. Drink?"

 

He pulled out a bottle of Serrice Ice brandy. "Hah, I haven't seen one of those in years," Shepard said. He remembered when he and Dr. Chakwas got drunk on a bottle. "How's everyone?" He asked as he took a glass.

 

"Well, let's see. . .Joker's still piloting the SSV Normandy. We offered him a Geneva-Class Cruiser, but I think he was more insulted than anything else. I don't want to be the man who retires him."

 

"Who's the current CO?"

 

"Commander Vega. He passed his N7 training two years ago and gunned for the position immediately. It only felt right in the end. Jacob Taylor's retired and raising his family. . .at least, I have a good feeling that's what I would say, if I knew anything about Taylor's whereabouts."

 

Shepard nodded. Despite his service, Jacob was technically an Alliance fugitive for his role in Cerberus. Hackett had been very understanding on that point. 

 

"What about Ashley?" Shepard asked.

 

"Well, like you before her, since becoming a Spectre, she's not technically under the jurisdiction of the Alliance anymore. Last I heard, she was running a scouting mission in newly acquired Council Space, but you'd have to ask her yourself what she's doing these days. Lieutenant Cortez is currently serving on the SSV Trafalgar, quite happy where he is."

 

"Are the Spectres still in commission?" Shepard asked. "I would have thought they would have gone defunct after the Citadel was destroyed."

 

"Actually, there are Spectres now than ever before. Most likely a consequence of adding more races to the Council."

 

After the War ended, the Citadel Council—now without a Citadel—acknowledged the worth of all participating species, and extended a Council position to most of them. In addition to human, turian, asari and salarian Councilors, there was now a krogan, a quarian, a volus, an elcor, and a hanar Councilor. The batarians were not extended a position due to their history with Council Space, nor were the drell, for their dwindling numbers. Three pain-in-the-ass politicians were now nine.

 

"I don't think I've asked," Hackett said suddenly, "How's Garrus?"

 

Shepard leaned back in his chair. "Not so good. His mother's very sick, and between you and me, I think he's trying to prolong the inevitable. Other than that, though, he and I have been doing very well. I just wish we could see eachother more."

 

"You're apart often?"

 

"Well, he's been assisting with the turian restoration efforts and I've been establishing philanthropies, so we don't get much mutual break time. It'll cool down, eventually."

 

Hackett nodded. "And you? How have you been lately? Aside from indulging in these warm meals I've heard so much about."

 

"Eh, I've mostly been dodging mail and avoiding reporters."

 

"So _that's_ why all those awards and accolades have been showing up here. You would be a shoo-in for human Councilor, you know. Just about any position of power in the galaxy would probably give you the keys. And I'm pretty sure the Catholic Church declared you a saint."

 

"Don't you need to be dead for that?"

 

"And Catholic, or so I thought. Maybe they found a loophole."

 

Shepard considered whether he should tell Hackett about his attacks. The military brass wasn't the appropriate avenue to divulge his personal problems with. But on the other hand, Hackett had been a friend to him as well, presiding over his wedding and all. He decided that, since Hackett was no longer his boss, it couldn't hurt to tell him.

 

"Besides all that, I'm doing well," he began. "Except. . .well, it's weird, but. . ."

 

Hackett put down his drink and stared at Shepard with a sudden focus that threw him off. "What is it?" He said.

 

"I've been having some. . .moments. Garrus thinks it's PTSD-induced flashbacks from the War."

 

Hackett nodded like he was just told about the weather. "But you don't agree?"

 

"Admiral, I was in a slaver raid at sixteen, the Skyllian Blitz at eighteen, the N7 program, the years of service, and the horrifying stuff I saw during the War. I _never_ had any problems, aside from a few nightmares and one too many shore leave incidents. Why now, five years after the fact?"

 

"You personally marched into Hell and got a bird's-eye view of everything there. Any soldier would have problems."

 

"Do you?" While Shepard had been in Hell during the War, Hackett had stayed on Earth, which in his estimation was far worse.

 

"Not on the level of PTSD, no. What are these 'moments' like?"

 

He tried to put into words the feelings that phased through him during an attack. "It's like. . .like I'll suddenly remember something out of the blue and it'll be so real that I feel like I'm in it again, being shot at by some enemy or other. I know I'm not, but my body doesn't, so I just sit there and remind myself that I'm fine."

 

"So you're re-experiencing memories of combat?"

"Yeah, but it's not just combat. Sometimes it's just a memory of me doing rounds on the Normandy, or talking to Anderson, or being with Garrus. It's not always a stressful memory and it doesn't always get my Fight-or-Flight into gear. That's not typical PTSD, is it?"

 

Hackett shrugged. "Not by any manifestation of the disorder that I've seen, but I'm not a psychiatrist. I can recommend you a good one, if you'd like; helped me through some tough times myself."

 

"You don't think I should go to the VA?"

 

"No." He didn't elaborate, but instead reached into a drawer and pulled out a card. A _paper_ card. Shepard had never seen one before in his life.

 

"She's a little old fashioned," Hackett said as Shepard felt the card like it was from a myth. The name "Euphrosyne Lanira, Psy.D." was printed in bright blue type.

 

"An asari?" Shepard asked.

 

"They have a very advanced take on therapy," Hackett said. "And she's the best I've ever seen."

 

"Honestly, sir, I can't see you visiting a therapist."

 

"The galaxy has changed a lot, son. The people in it moreso than anything else."

 

Shepard nodded and toasted Hackett, then finished the brandy. He stood and saluted. "It's been good, Admiral. We should meet up more often. Garrus thought you were going to have me do something for you."

 

Hackett returned the salute. "Actually," he said, "there is one thing you could do for me. No obligation, of course."

 

"Sir, I _am_ retired, and I prefer it to stay that way. . ."

 

"It's not really military-related. That's why I'm asking, in fact. The Council asked for me to arrange a meeting with the raloi ambassador and see about readmitting their species into the galactic community."

 

"The what ambassador?"

 

"The raloi. Their home planet is Turvess. In 2184, the raloi launched their first space telescope and accidentally stumbled upon an asari cruiser. They were welcomed into the galactic community by the Council in 2185."

 

"Why haven't I heard of them?"

 

"When the Reapers invaded, the raloi retreated to their home planet and destroyed their satellites and decommissioned their space programs, hoping the Reapers would assume they were a pre-spacefaring species and ignore them."

 

"So while we were fighting the Reapers, they turned chicken and ran? I don't think that scored them any points with the galactic community."

 

"Which is exactly why you're the perfect man for the job. The Council isn't as happy to see them this time, and some are full-blown protesting their admission because of their actions. An endorsement from Commander Shepard could warm the galaxy up to the new guys, and they get to meet the man who saved their race. It's also funny you use the word 'chicken;' the raloi are avian. We finally have a species more birdlike than the turians."

 

Shepard thought about it, running his hand through his hair. It reminded him a bit too much of the old days of dealing with the Council. But he also remembered being the new kid on the block; humans hadn't been in the galactic community for very long when he was made Spectre, and the other races didn't exactly like humans to begin with either. 

 

"I guess I can try," he said. "I think a diplomat would be better for the job, though."

 

"Good," Hackett said. "You'll meet the raloi representative on the Destiny Ascension. And don't worry about it; I hear they're a timid bunch. Promise me you'll see Doctor Lanira?"

 

"Yeah, don't worry. Thanks again, sir."

 

"Thank you."

 

Shepard left the office and wandered around the building for a bit, soldiers saluting him wherever he went despite the fact that he wasn't a soldier anymore. The sun was dropping, painting the sky in a red-orange hue, and he realized that he hadn't slept in quite a while—not since Illium. He decided to stay on Earth for a day; that also gave him the opportunity to research the raloi and set up an appointment with Lanira. 

 

He pulled the card out of his pocket—it was already slightly crumpled—and marveled at the paper again. Amazing that this sort of thing used to be commonplace. How times changed.

 

* * *

 

 

**Steven**

 

When Shepard left the room, Hackett returned to his desk and sat down. That chair had never been particularly comfortable, but now it bore a completely new level of discomfort for him. He caught himself slouching and straightened up. _Not a man in diapers just yet._ He had a couple of calls to make.

 

He activated his omni-tool and dialed the personal line of Doctor Lanira. 

 

"Steven," the asari woman said. "It's been a while. Is everything all right?"

 

"It is with me," he said. "You may have a client coming in soon. Commander Shepard."

 

"The Commander's coming to see me? Oh, wow. Thank you for the recommendation."

 

"You're not going to thank me in a moment, Doctor. I need detailed records of everything you discuss. Whatever he says, I want a report. Video would be better, if possible."

 

A moment. Then, "You know I can't do that. I have an ethical obligation to my clients—"

 

"If you don't, I will get an order to subpoena you, and I'll have the records anyway. This way, no bad attention is drawn to your practice."

 

"I can't say I've ever been threatened with subpoena for a client I haven't seen yet," Lanira said, her voice a mixture between annoyed and uncomfortable.

 

"You've never had a client this high-end before."

 

". . .I'll have to think about it. When's he coming in?"

 

"I don't know. I wouldn't do this without a good reason, Doctor."

 

"In my profession, there is no good reason. You realize that I won't be taking you on as a client after this."

 

"I understand."

 

"Goodbye, Steven."

 

He hung up and rubbed his eyes at a futile attempt to alleviate the pressure behind them. A good therapist was hard to come by, but he had sacrificed more.

 

His next call went through a classified line that nobody in the galaxy could trace. 

 

"Um," said a nervous voice on the other end. "Hello? I mean, yes?"

 

"It's Hackett. I've just seen Shepard."

 

". . ."

 

"He's been having waking dreams. Flashbacks."

 

". . .Damn it."

 

"He's also been to see Miranda, though I don't think he knows anything just yet. How much time do we have?"

 

"Not long. If his memories are becoming mixed up, or worse, if he's forgetting. . ."

 

He too had considered that. "Are we ready?"

 

"Not yet. I had hoped for a few more weeks, but at this stage. . .we're going to need a few days. Do you have an eye on him?"

 

"Yes. Aethyta's still tailing him too."

 

"Okay. Keep me informed. Is there anything else?"

 

"No. Good luck."

 

"Thank you, Admiral." 

 

He hung up the line and looked out the window for some support. When the galaxy was at war, when billions died and he had to choose between his soul and the lives that remained, he would have chosen life. Now the galaxy was in just as much danger—if not more—but this time he was choosing between his soul and telling Shepard the truth, and that decision was much more difficult.

 

_Anderson wouldn't have stood for this._ The thought came unbidden, but there it was, plain as the setting sun. No, Anderson would have taken a different approach entirely. . .but Anderson wasn't here anymore.


	7. Dropping Names

**Solana**

 

They were held in a dark cargo bay, nothing but boxes to keep them from falling over themselves in FTL flight. Drineax sat away from the rest, near the doors, to keep watch, playing with his knife. As before, only the asari had her hands bound—where could any of them go, even if they got away?

 

The asari—her name was Felicia—had stopped crying, giving way for other emotions to present themselves.

 

"I can't believe this is happening," she said. "I'm only two hundred years old. I'm too young. I have money! I'll pay you to let me go! I don't want to die due to some crazy asshole like you!"

 

"Well," Drineax said, "I think that's four of the five stages of grief already. Good, get it out of your system now; Marina hates crybabies."

 

Felicia made to respond, but the turian shushed her. He was the only other turian hostage besides Solana; his name was Loryias. 

 

"Hey," Drineax said, shrugging. "She has a point."

 

Loryias whispered to the rest of the group, "Goading him on will not help our situation."

 

"Y'know," said Drineax, "he has a point too."

 

Solana tried her omni-tool again. A fool's hope; Drineax had disabled them "until further notice," whatever that meant. If she could just get a message to her father, or Garrus, or _somebody._

 

"It's really not as bad as you think," Drineax said to them. "I mean, yeah, it's bad now that Archangel's back, but. . ."

 

They had apparently been victim of what Drineax had called a "recruiting drive" for the Omega faction of the Blue Suns. The mercenary groups were hit hard by Archangel, forcing them to resort to kidnapping to bolster ranks. They would most likely be used as fodder for Archangel's attacks while the groups rounded up more willing enlistments.

 

"But," Drineax said, "if you do as you're told and prove yourselves to Marina, you'll be in as the real deal. Sure pays better than most gigs. And I hear Eclipse is nicer to their guys than us," he said, nodding to the salarians and the Felicia. The salarians hadn't said a word since their capture, instead huddled together, shaking. They didn't appear comforted. The Blue Suns were composed of turians, humans, and batarians; asari and salarians typically went to Eclipse, while krogan and vorcha made up the bulk of the Blood Pack. "Hell," he continued, "once Archangel's done, they'll probably even let you all go. If you want to, that is."

 

"What exactly are you going to do to us?" Solana asked.

 

"Feed you, of course. Get you straightened up, presentable. We'll have to find room, but I don't expect that to be much of a problem. . .oh, you meant—?" He laughed. "Don't worry; you're a tempting prospect, but even violent mercenary gangs have codes of ethics. We aren't rapists. At least, most of us aren't. Just don't pull any heroic stunts and you'll all be fine, cross my heart." He made a crossing motion over his stomach with his knife. "Don't freak out. Those are words to live by, right there."

 

_Lovely._ Her stomach rose and fell with the movement of the ship. She felt like she would be sick.  She was trapped with the craziest being she had ever met, forced to join a mercenary group on the most dangerous hellhole in the galaxy. During difficult times, she thought of her mother, and all she had to endure in her life, and she usually felt better about the situation. Now, though, thinking of her mother only made it worse. _I might never see her again._

 

No. She couldn't think like that.

 

Loryias huddled her, Felicia, and the humans together. The salarians weren't interested in moving. Felicia had to scooch on her knees, her hands bound behind her back.

 

"We can take him," Loryias said, as low as possible. Drineax didn't seem to even try to listen. "The five of us, seven if we can get those two to move? He's no match. Then when we land, we can—"

 

"We can what?" Said one human, a bald male with very thin eyebrows. "Overpower the two batarians and god-knows however many of them there are waiting for us outside? And let's say we do; do you have a working knowledge of Omega? These guys practically own the place, from what I hear. We'll never be able to get away."

 

"We can't just let them do whatever they want with us," said the other human, a female, her neatly tied blonde hair disfigured by the recent events. She didn't seem related to the other human. "I'm running. We have to."

 

"We'll only be killed," Solana said. Everyone in the group looked to her at once.

 

"We'll be killed if we stay!"

 

"No. They've put too much effort into capturing us just to kill us on the spot. We have to stay calm, do as they say, and maybe we can escape if an opportunity presents itself."

 

"And if it doesn't?" Felicia said. "What do we do then? If the mercs don't kill us, Archangel will!"

 

_Archangel._ She had heard about him on the news; rumors about the figure ranged from the supernatural to the ridiculous, from saying he could kill someone by looking at them to stories that he could even fly. She didn't believe the rumors, but she didn't want to be the enemy of someone who inspired such fearful nonsense either. Unfortunately, she had no rebuttal prepared. The situation seemed hopeless. 

 

"Ha!" Drineax exclaimed suddenly. "Usually they wait till we land and get settled to huddle together and talk about escape. You guys are awesome. Not you, though," he pointed at the salarians. "But, and I'm gonna be serious here, don't even think about escape. Believe it or not, we're not the worst things Omega has to offer; you're actually safer with us than on your own in the station. Plus, some of the guards have itchy trigger fingers and will shoot would-be escapees. Lay low, do as you're told, and you'll be fine." Then he shrugged and his tone returned to its usual nonchalance. "Or don't and get yourselves killed, or worse. Free galaxy and all that."

 

The ship rattled, a violent motion that sent all of them, Drineax included, lurching toward the front. 

 

"Umph," he moaned. "Must be a new driver. We really need seatbelts back here. . ."

 

"Have we landed?" Solana asked, hoping that the ship was being intercepted by a rescuing party. It could happen.

 

Drineax stood and checked his omni-tool. "Looks like it. Now, when the door opens, slowly file out in front of me. There'll be gunners there, so what's the golden rule?"

 

They all stared at him like he held a bomb in his teeth. Solana couldn't believe how calm the man was. 

 

"Right; don't freak out. I'd really rather not have to bind your hands after coming all this way, but if I have to. . ."

 

Loryias stood up. "I've had enough of this lunacy," he said. He lunged toward Drineax, but the other turian dodged with a step and landed an elbow on Loryias' back, knocking him to the ground with a grunt. Drineax planted a foot on the back of Loryias' neck, bent down, and lifted his head, with one hand while position the knife at Loryias' throat with the other. Felicia screamed and started crying again.

 

"Now," he said, calm as ever, "what did you think that would accomplish? Hm? You'd knock me out, maybe kill me, and then—what? Take my gun and shoot your way out? Oh, you'd use my knife? It's handy for cheese cutting, I'll admit, but not so much for medium- to long-ranged combat against multiple hostiles. Not only would you be killed, but them too." He cricked his neck in the direction of the rest of the group. "You freaked out and lost all sense of judgment. If anyone else in the Suns were watching, they'd have killed you. If my old bootcamp officer were watching, he'd probably kill you too. I'm going to let you go now, and you're to stand first in line, since I already have you over here. What's the rule?"

 

Loryias grunted. Drineax moved his hand slightly. "Don't freak out," Loryias croaked. Drineax removed the knife and stepped off of Loryias' neck, and even helped him to stand up. The rest of the group filed behind Loryias, with Solana going last.

 

"A turian at the front," Drineax said as he examined the group, "and a turian at the rear." He gave Solana a salacious look. "And a marvelous rear it is. We're such an awesome species."

 

Solana ignored him, standing straight, eyes forward, like she learned in boot camp years ago. The human woman stood in front of her, trembling but clearly trying to stay calm. 

 

The doors rattled, then opened, a ramp extending like a metal red carpet, their paparazzi holding assault rifles instead of cameras. The stench of Omega quickly hit her nostrils, and were it not for the things she'd smelled dissecting bodies for school, she would have gagged. "Golden rule," Drineax whispered in her ear, then pushed her forward with his pistol. She lurched ahead, bumping into the human woman, who in turn bumped into the human man, and so on; such is how their line finally began moving, an awkward procession made all the more difficult with the mercenaries watching and hollering.

 

"This is it?" She heard someone say in the crowd. "Sorry bunch this time around."

 

"Hey, gorgeous! You and me are gonna have a good time together!"

 

"Fodder for Archangel, won't last a week. . ."

 

"Fuck Eclipse; the asari's mine!"

 

They were led through the group toward a multi-layered structure that looked like it was once a dwelling place. They crossed a small bridge to reach it. Solana could envision several tactical uses of that bridge; a sniper or two could fend off many invading hostiles that would attempt to cross the narrow space. She looked up at the dwelling and, sure enough, two snipers were stationed on the upper floors, their guns aiming down at them. Ahead, a menacing human woman in full armor minus helmet approached, two turian guards at her side. 

 

She heard Drineax sniff behind her. "That's her." The hint of psychotic glee that always tinged his voice was gone, replaced by something akin to nervousness.

 

Marina seemed older than Solana expected, a constant scowl across her lightly wrinkled face. Her hair had small silver streaks at the front which were pulled back by a braid, a human sign of age. Her hair, skin and eyes were all dark; Solana had no clue as to whether she would be considered beautiful in human terms, but if she were a turian, she would have been fairly attractive-looking with the right colony insignia. The woman looked at the group like she was looking at the contents of a shopping cart. Solana made sure to meet her eyes.

 

"These the new toys, huh?" The woman had a slight human accent Solana was unfamiliar with. "Don't look like much. You couldn't get a few more turians?"

 

"Not many turians on a transport ship from Jamone," one of the batarian kidnappers said. "These two were the best on the ship. Drin picked the girl out himself."

 

"I'm sure he did," Marina said, sneering. "Always weak for the ladies, Drin. If you used the head on your shoulders as well as the one between your legs, you could run this station."

 

"Your confidence in me is as heartwarming as ever, Ms. Vanjurin." 

 

Marina turned her attention to Solana. "What's your name?"

 

Solana didn't answer immediately. Marina brought her hand up and grabbed Solana's right mandible. She brought her hands up in defense, but a batarian shoved the barrel of his gun against the small of her back. Marina yanked on her mandible like it was a child's toy. The other mercs laughed and jeered. The only one who didn't seem to be enjoying himself was Drineax, who kept his gaze on her like a concerned mentor. _Don't freak out._

 

"Can't talk? Or are you just stupid? I do _not_ like having to ask twice, girl. _Name._ "

 

She let go of Solana's mandible with a painful yank. She got to her feet and took a breath. _Eye contact. Maintain eye contact._ The whole thing was a test of will, one she had to pass if she was to survive. "Solana," she said.

 

Marina rolled her eyes. "Just one name?"

 

Solana hesitated, considering whether or not to tell the truth.

 

"Do I need to ask again?" Marina said menacingly.

 

She didn't have time to mull over the ramifications. "Solana Vakarian," she said.

 

The effect was instantaneous. The raucous laughter died down immediately, the crowd of mercenaries now a bunch of slack-jawed idiots staring at her in awe. The other hostages in the group even seemed to forget their situation as they turned heads at her. She had seen the same effect in her classes. Even Marina's eyes widened, though just slightly.

 

Marina turned to Drineax, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else at that given moment. "Please tell me," she said, her calm voice hiding a storm, "tell me that 'Vakarian' is a common turian last name. Like 'Smith,' or 'Anderson.'"

 

"Um, ah," Drineax appeared at a loss for words, for once. "I can't, uh, say for sure, really. I mean, I didn't know."

 

"Fuck this!" One of the humans in the crowd said. "I'm not paid enough to take on Commander Shepard!" Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Marina silenced them all with a look, then turned back to the ever-shrinking Drineax. 

 

"I will deal with you later," she said through clenched teeth. When she turned back to Solana, she thought she would be killed on the spot. _Stay calm. She wouldn't dare._

 

"Any relation?" Marina said. There was no need to ask of whom she meant.

 

"My brother." She decided to test her luck. "And my brother-in-law won't be happy to hear about this."

 

To her surprise, Marina snickered. "Let's say you're telling the truth," she said, her voice raised so everyone could hear. "Shepard is 'Commander' no more, I hear. In fact, last I heard, he's been busy saving the galaxy one orphan at a time. I bet he was something to fear during the War, but now he's just a civilian like anyone else." Marina stepped back. "And I doubt you'll be getting in touch with him any time soon, regardless."

 

As though nothing important at all had happened, Marina resumed her headcount of the hostages, dragging their names from them one at a time. But the crowd continued to stare at her, as though she would sprout wings and fly at any moment. Drineax stared at her, grinning like an idiot. _What's he so happy about?_ She didn't envy him having to take responsibility for her presence. 

 

When Marina was done, she dismissed them—already acting like she was their boss. They were led into the dwelling by the batarians. Drineax was taken by Marina, probably to get chewed out, if not outright killed. She strangely felt more vulnerable with him gone; crazy as he was, she never got the impression that Drineax meant any of them any harm. She hoped that dropping her name would protect her from any would-be assailants.

 

When they were inside, the base was closed up behind them, guards posted inside and out. Several mercenaries were eating, one was asleep, several alcoholic beverages littered nearby, and a couple of turians were shouting at a television over a clawball game. The place seemed almost like a spacious college dorm. 

 

"Do you know what this place is?" One of their escorts said, turning to them. "This was the last Archangel's hiding place. We cut down his whole operation right here." He motioned them to follow him up the stairs two flights, talking about the place as if he were a tour guide. "See that stain over there?" He pointed to a charred, blackened spot on the floor, dried blue stains on the tile around it. "That's the old Archangel. They say we're full of shit because we couldn't give a body? I say there was no body left to give."

 

"Were you there?" Solana asked without thinking. All eyes turned on her again. She felt like the woman of the hour. 

 

The batarian looked at her but avoided making eye contact. "Well, no, that was before my time. But I know a guy who saw it with his own four eyes. And this new guy, whoever he is, he's gonna end up worse than that when we get a hole of him. Now, here's where you lot'll be sleeping. . ."

 

Solana tuned out, focusing on the stain on the ground. She wondered how trapped that Archangel must have felt before he died, and if she would end up meeting the same fate he did.

 

* * *

 

 

**John**

 

His night on Earth was a pleasant one, albeit lonely. He missed Garrus the most at night, when he was alone in bed, his mind wandering to times with his husband. When the morning came, he often woke with his mind still in the same place—with certain other parts having joined in the memories.

 

Doctor Lanira's office was on Earth, according to her card (he would have to get that preserved, somehow), so he decided to visit her before heading to the Destiny Ascension. He felt the beginning pangs of regret from accepting Hackett's request to help the raloi; the first thing he resolved to do after retirement was avoid political disputes as much as possible, and now here he was, heading back into the thick of a big one. He didn't even know what the raloi looked like, or what constituted an offense in their culture, or anything at all besides the fact that they were birds. But he was committed, and besides, Hackett was not a man to ask for favors—typically, he just gave orders. John would do it as a friend, not as a subordinate. 

 

But first, he had to talk to a therapist.

 

He called the number on the card. A female receptionist answered the call, her voice frighteningly cheery. 

 

"Doctor Lanira's office!"

 

"Uh, yes, I know it's really on-the-spot, but I wanted to know if Doctor Lanira could schedule an appointment in the next. . ." he checked the time. "Couple of hours?"

 

"Hmm," he heard typing on the other end. "Her schedule's pretty full up for this morning. . .what's your name?"

 

"John Vakarian." When they decided to marry, John and Garrus had both agreed that "John Vakarian" sounded less ridiculous than "Garrus Shepard." And since everyone called him by his surname anyway, he could just make "Shepard" his middle name and go by that instead of his first. The exception was Garrus, who always called him by his first name. He enjoyed hearing it from him. 

 

The receptionist sputtered into the omni-tool upon hearing his name. He stifled a laugh. 

 

"I, um, let me see what we can do for you, Mister-Commander, sir. One moment."

 

A few seconds had passed, then a new voice came on the line. "Hello? This is Lanira."

 

"Oh, hello, Doctor." He didn't expect to speak to her directly. Her voice alone radiated gentleness; he could tell he was talking to a counselor. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything important."

 

"Not at all. I heard you want to schedule an appointment?"

 

"Yes, but if you're busy, it can wait. . ."

 

"Can you come by now? I have a window."

 

"Sure. Thanks."

 

"Excellent, I look forward to meeting you. See you soon."

 

When they hung up, he got dressed and left. Hackett set him up in a room meant for an admiral, but said admiral hadn't used it in some time, being on the other side of the world. As before, everyone he passed in the building either gaped or saluted at him, neither of which was necessary and both of which annoyed him, but it couldn't be helped. This was what he got for being the good guy. 

 

He had to call a cab. Much as he would have enjoyed walking in the open air and seeing what was going on on the ground instead of from a tower, his destination was over three-hundred kilometers away. Thankfully, the cab was equipped with a dual-core eezo engine capable of propelling them to the Moon in the span of a day, if necessary. The driver, a nice old man with thin gray hair and a North American accent, asked him about his "Reaper adventures," which he told, if only to keep the ride from becoming boring.

 

"So you actually had to do your whole crew a favor before they could trust you, huh?" The cabby tisked. "These days we're in. When I was in the Navy, it was obey or get thrown out the airlock."

 

John smiled as he remembered how Javik took the same approach. Though, the prothean was much older than the cabbie. 

 

They weaved through traffic across what was once a border, above awe-inspiring sights of mountains and frozen plains. He thought it was gorgeous. Garrus would hate it. 

 

_"So why do turians hate the cold?"_ He once asked Garrus. 

 

_"Have you ever been to Palaven?"_ He replied. _"It's not like Earth where some parts are cold and some are hot and you can just move from one to the other; the whole planet's hot, even the poles. We evolved in that heat; we don't like cold weather because we don't know how to handle cold weather. Unlike most things we don't know how to handle, though, we can't blow cold weather up and move on. Plus, turians just look weird in jackets."_

 

When the ride was over, he paid the cabbie—plus a generous tip—and bid the old man farewell. 

 

When he thought of a therapist's office, he imagined a small space cut into a strip mall with a few rooms with chairs and couches. This office, however, was a building; sliding-glass doors opened up with a pleasant beep into an overwhelmingly large reception area. Lanira wasn't just a psychiatrist, apparently; she was also a CEO. The reception area wasn't particularly crowded, at least not relative to the size of the building, but there were enough people around to make him nervous. Once the media got word of Commander Shepard seeing a therapist, there would be a publicity shitstorm. 

 

There was no helping it, though. So he went up to the receptionist's desk and gave his name and appointment time.

 

The receptionist, an asari, nodded at her screen when she found his appointment. Surprisingly, she didn't seem to care about who he was or why he was there. "Doctor Lanira's waiting for you in her office on the top floor," she said. "I've told her you're here. Have a nice day."

 

He found the elevator and took it to the top floor. As he went up, he reminisced about the frequent elevator rides on the Citadel and how his squad would converse over the news. A small part of him missed those times, with Garrus goading Tali on or Ashley getting along with Wrex. Sometimes they listened quietly to the news broadcasts, which usually were stories they were involved with. He even remembered—

 

"Sir?"

 

He blinked a couple of times. The elevator had stopped and a human woman looked at him like he was dangerous. "Um," she said. "Did you. . .need to come go to another floor, or. . .?"

 

He wasn't even aware that the elevator had stopped. How long had he been standing like that? Did he just have another episode?

 

"Sorry," he said, stepping out. He walked past the confused woman up to another receptionist desk, this one smaller than the one on the ground. Several chairs lined the walls in a waiting room nearby, complete with television and datapads. 

 

The asari receptionist, upon seeing him, pressed a button on her desk and a light blinked. "She'll be out in just a moment, sir!" This must have been the cheery one he spoke to on the phone. "Feel free to have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

 

"No thanks," he replied. "Unless you have bourbon back there."

 

"Hahahahahahaha!" The receptionist laughed with more enthusiasm than he thought the joke was merited. There were other people in the waiting room, though, and he felt awkward enough just being there, let alone sitting in a room full of people who would immediately recognize him. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long before someone called him, thankfully by his first name.

 

"John?" Lanira's voice came. He took a breath and quickly walked through the waiting room, hoping nobody quite made out his face.

 

Lanira shook his hand in the hallway. "Good to meet you. The vids really don't do you justice. This way." The hallway had many doors, a few of which were open, all of which had some name or other followed by the credentials "LMHC" or "LCSW" or "Psy.D." Lanira's door, a corner room, had all of them, including several he didn't recognize. Asari credentials, he supposed. 

 

Her office was almost as large as Hackett's, with a massive window looking out onto a much more pleasant scene than Hackett's office did. A large, plush couch sat perpendicular to the window, allowing for good angle but also positioned facing the desk. But upon stepping in, it wasn't the view John stared at.

 

It was the books.

 

Shelves and shelves of books.

 

_Paper books._

 

The last time (and only time) he had ever seen a paper book was when Kasumi Goto brought a few onto the Normandy. They were a marvel then, and they were a marvel now. There were _dozens_ of them; the very air smelled musty and old. The smell of paper? There were even more behind her desk. A single datapad lay on the desk, next to a holographic computer interface, the only modern touches the room appeared to have.

 

"Please," Lanira said, smiling. "Be comfortable."

 

"How do you have so many books?" He asked. Were there ever that many books on the entire planet of Mindoir?

 

"I collect them. You might also like this." She went to her desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a pen (also an antique) and a paper notebook. How much paper did this woman have?

 

"My old teacher used paper almost exclusively, when she could," Lanira said, putting the notebook away. "I just got into the habit and I guess I never got back out. Please, have a seat."

 

She gestured to the couch and John sat, nearly sinking into the cushion. Lanira sat across from him about six feet away, her legs crossed. Her face had the sagely distinctiveness all asari Matriarchs had, but exactly what defined that feature was hard to say; her blue skin, slightly darker than Liara's, was free of wrinkles or discolorations, and her voice gave no sign of aged weakness or shortness of breath. She could easily pass for a middle-aged human woman, but she was likely almost a thousand years old, maybe even older. Her smile, posture, and even her clothes all said _I'm someone you can trust with anything._

 

"So," he said, leaning forward. He didn't like the couch very much. "I'm, ah, kinda new at this. Honestly, I'm mostly here for my husband. And Admiral Hackett recommended you very highly."

 

"Yes, Admiral Hackett is. . .a longtime acquaintance. Well, I'll tell you a little about me: I've been in practice for, oh, about seven hundred years. I specialize in military and high-profile, sensitive cases: admirals, politicians, high security clearances. You said your husband asked you to come? Why is that?"

 

"Well," he already felt nervous. 

 

"Don't worry if you don't feel comfortable telling me something. This is your time, your session; we can talk about whatever you want, or even nothing at all. And nothing you say leaves these walls, unless you tell me you want to hurt yourself or someone else, of course." She smiled. "You don't plan on hurting yourself or someone else, do you?"

 

"Hah. No. Not today, anyway."

 

Lanira chuckled. "So you mentioned your husband. What's his name?"

 

"You haven't seen him on TV?"

 

"I have, but I don't pay much attention to television these days, and it's been a little while. Besides, I'd like to get to know you from what you tell me, not from what a screen tells me."

 

He decided that he liked her after all. "His name's Garrus."

 

"How long have you two been married?"

 

"Five years in a few months. We got married right after the War."

 

She nodded. "Yes, I suppose there wasn't much time for marriage while that was going on."

 

John shrugged. "We made do."

 

"Did you meet during that time?"

 

"Right before, when we didn't even know there was a War going on. He had been arguing with the turian Councilor, and we. . .wait, that's not right." He shook his head. Talk about a brain fart. "He was arguing with the Executor, not the Councilor. Got my lines crossed. Anyway, I look back on it now and I think it's funny, but I didn't much like him back then."

 

Lanira's mouth opened in a semi-gape like a woman chatting with a friend. "Really? And then you got married? Must have been a heck of a jump."

 

"I thought he was reckless and kind of immature. Plus, he's a turian, and we were going after a turian at the time. . ."

 

"You mean Saren?"

 

He nodded. "I had only worked with a turian once before, and he died about ten minutes after I met him. He's a hell of a shot, though. The first time I saw him shoot, he hit a guy across the room square in the head while he held a doctor at gunpoint. . ." He suddenly realized he was talking to a civilian. He sat back and cleared his throat. "Um, not that it was good or anything, but, well, you know. . ."

 

Lanira waved her hand dismissively. "I've heard every kind of story you can imagine, and yet every one is still unique. I'm not here to judge you or what you've done; speak freely."

 

He nodded, but didn't want to continue his train of thought. "So what do people usually talk about in here?"

 

"Whatever they like. Family, dreams, experiences. Usually there's something that propels them to come in, that makes them feel they need my service. I once had a young man who refused to talk to me at all—we just sat there for an hour. He later came back and asked me why I wasted so much time with him. He became a long-time client of mine."

 

John nodded again. 

 

"I noticed," Lanira said, "that my receptionist put you down as _Vakarian._ I assume that's your husband's name? But everyone I've heard calls you _Commander Shepard._ What would you prefer to be called?"

 

_"Shepard_ is fine," he said. He didn't want to be called by his first name; he was used to being called _Shepard,_ and besides, his first name was mostly reserved for his closest relationships, like Garrus. "No _Commander._ I'm not that anymore."

 

"Oh, so you've retired?"

 

"Yes, I quit the military just a little after I married. I got tired of the attention and the whole structure. I think I've had enough military adventure for several asari lifetimes."

 

"I imagine that it was difficult to adjust, what with the press and everything."

 

"It was, but we got along. Garrus and I, I mean. Well, we didn't always get along; he's still in the military, which all turians are, pretty much. It's mostly because we go so long apart. I would pack up and move to Palaven tomorrow if it meant living together on a consistent basis, but with the restoration efforts, it's been hell. We had a permanent home on the Citadel, but, well." He pointed to the sky outside. "You know how that turned out. We've had our fights, but nothing threatening to the relationship."

 

"It's normal for an interspecies couple to experience some conflict. Even moreso for an interspecies military couple. Add in the fact that it's a Levo/Dextro relationship and many don't survive for as long as yours."

 

"Yeah, and he was my subordinate when we served, so. . ."

 

Her eyes widened slightly. "You served together? On the same ship? I thought that wasn't allowed."

 

"Desperate times. Plus, it's not like the Alliance could tell me no; I was a Spectre. There weren't any problems on the ship, but once we married, I had to learn that he wasn't obligated to follow my orders anymore. He made sure to remind me."

 

"It sounds like he really loves you. I don't know if I could handle it, myself."

 

He nodded. "Yeah. We were together a few days ago, on Illium, but. . .his mom has Corpalis, you see."

 

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

 

"Yes, well, it's in the final stages, and Garrus. . .he doesn't take loss easily. I mean, nobody should be expected to just pick up and move on when they lose a loved one. But Garrus goes a step further and sometimes leaves the people around him behind. If that makes sense."

 

Lanira nodded. "I imagine it must be difficult, for him and for you."

 

"Yeah. But I've been through it already, and he hasn't."

 

"You lost your mother?"

 

"Wow, you really don't pay attention to the TV, do you?" 

 

She laughed again, adjusting her legs. "I really don't."

 

"I was born on Mindoir. The planet's on the outskirts of Citadel Space, on the edge of what was the Terminus Systems. It's a small agriculture community, not a military base or anything, so no real means of defense. I lived with my parents and my sister, who was a year older than me. Her name was Andromeda, Andi for short. I called her 'Android' because it annoyed her. Anyway, because we were so close, we got attacked by batarians in slave raids. Mindoir got hit, and my mother, father and sister. . .Mom and dad were both shot, and Andi was trapped in a building that got bombed to dust; there wasn't even a body to identify."

 

"I'm so sorry. When did this happen?"

 

"About. . .God. . .twenty-one years ago. Yep, 2170. I was sixteen."

 

"That must have been horrible for you. What did you do?"

 

"Bounced from foster family to foster family for two years. I wasn't exactly the best kid to have around, if you know what I mean."

 

"I wouldn't be either."

 

"I joined the military the day I turned eighteen, and, well, here I am."

 

"Yes," she said, leaning back. "You've certainly experienced a whole lot. I've lived ten times longer than most humans, and I can't begin to imagine what you've been through."

 

"Which kinda leads me to why I'm here today," he said. Telling Lanira his life story made him feel much more comfortable about opening up a little more. He realized that that was probably the point all along. "I've been having these moments where I'll sort of slip back into my past. Like I'm reliving a memory. My head's still here, but it's like a dream where you know you're in bed and the dream takes precedence anyway."

 

Lanira leaned forward. John could practically hear the typing of notes going on in her head. "What kind of memories do you experience?"

 

"Any. They're mostly pertaining to the War, but it's not always a stressful memory. Sometimes I remember being in combat, but sometimes it's as simple as being in an elevator. I think I actually had one of these on the ride up here."

 

Lanira put her head in her hand. "Hmm."

 

"Garrus thinks it's PTSD."

 

"It would be, if you were re-experiencing just the bad memories. But PTSD doesn't present with reliving _all_ experiences, like you're having. When you have these moments, are there any environmental triggers that set them in motion?"

 

He thought about it. "I think so, actually. I had an episode during a lot of loud clapping where I was under fire, and then the elevator ride up here. . ."

 

"And are you eidetic?"

 

"Is that like diabetic?"

 

She laughed. "No, that's if you've been re-experiencing vivid memories for most of your life. It's similar to photographic memory, except, unlike photographic memory, it's an actual phenomenon."

 

"No. This is a recent development; it started several months ago."

 

Lanira leaned back. "This is interesting. What you're telling me is most consistent with an eidetic memory, but that's something people are born with. It doesn't develop and it can't be taught. How often do these experiences occur?"

 

"The first one was several years ago. They used to only occur once a month or so, but they've been getting more frequent. My most recent one was earlier today; before that, it was last week."

 

The asari put her hands together, tapping one finger over the others, her eyes looking at something John couldn't see. "I'll be honest with you, Shepard: I have no idea what this is. There is one thing I could try, but. . ." She looked at a clock on the wall by the door. "We're almost out of time for today, and besides, I don't like to use this particular technique on the first visit. It has a rather. . .personal nature."

 

He remembered the mental abilities Liara and Shiala had used on him at one time or another. "'Embracing eternity'?" He said.

 

Lanira laughed in a girlish way. "That's what some people call it. Have you done it before?"

 

"A few times." Except for once, they hadn't been very pleasant experiences. 

 

"Well," Lanira continued. "I can try to enter your mind and see your memories. Perhaps even trigger another episode. Obviously, this is a deeply personal experience and I completely understand if you would rather wait to do it, or not do it at all."

 

"Couldn't you find classified information that way?"

 

"Only if I knew where to look and what to look for. Otherwise, the random information I find will have no meaning to me. But there are those who could use it as a spying technique. That's another reason why I much prefer to have the trust of the client before performing it. In your case, however, I see no other way to determine what might be going on."

 

He sniffed, resigning to his fate. "Well, if that's the only way to get rid of them, then let's go for it."

 

Lanira blinked. "You would let me do something like that? Already?"

 

"I told you my life story, which puts you in the same boat as some of my best friends. I told you about my flashbacks, which puts you in the same boat as my husband and my former boss. My life is constantly told through biographies and documentaries already, so I don't have much to hide. Just. . .try to be careful, doing whatever it is you do."

 

"Very well," the doctor nodded. "But not today. We're out of time, and it can take as long as two hours to do this. We'll schedule an appointment and go from there. Open your omni-tool."

 

He obeyed, and she opened her own. She put a few commands into hers, and then his beeped. When they agreed on a time, she set her schedule and his synced with hers. They stood and shook hands, and Lanira escorted him back to the reception room, thankfully through a more private route. "It was good to meet you, Shepard. The vids don't do you justice, I'm afraid."

 

"It was good to meet you too, Doctor."

 

Lanira went back to see her next client. Shepard took the elevator back down to the first floor (no flashbacks this time, thankfully) and left the building as low-profile as he could.

 

When he turned his omni-tool back on, he had seven missed calls. All from Garrus. And all from the last five minutes. _Oh no,_ he thought, fearing the worst. He called Garrus back.

 

"John?" Garrus answered, in a shaking voice John had never heard coming from him. So he was right.

 

"Garrus? What's wrong? Did your mom. . ."

 

"Solana's missing," Garrus said, almost frantic. "And dad. . .oh, spirits, John, all of them. . .I can't think straight. I need you over here. Right now."

 

John stopped in his tracks. "Missing? What—I'm on my way. Are you on Jamone?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"I'm on Earth. I'll be there as fast as I can." He began jogging toward the nearest flight. "Garrus, it'll be all right. Okay? Tell me what happened."

 

* * *

 

 

**Garrus**

 

He arrived on Jamone in the early morning hours, the sun barely scraping over the horizon when his shuttle landed. He fell asleep during the flight, exhausted from worrying about how to convince his mother to hold on a little longer. Pallin hadn't called, which meant he was likely unsuccessful in his attempt to persuade her—if he made any attempt at all. He likely would have just gone back to sleep. 

 

The hospital's ever-familiar stench of sterility and formaldehyde welcomed him home. He passed several nurses who greeted him by name as though he were an old friend, rather than the family of one of their most permanent patients. At least the elevator ride was solitary. 

 

When he entered his mother's room, taking a deep breath as he did, he found his father pacing back and forth near the window, speaking into his omni-tool.

 

"Can you just check?" He said into the tool. "It's not like her to go this long without calling. Humor a worried parent, would you?"

 

He looked up at Garrus and waved him in. "Sorry," he said, pointing the tool away so whoever was on the other line wouldn't hear. "It's one of her teachers."

 

"Dad. . ."

 

"I know. Shut up."

 

"Hello, Garrus," his mother's VI said. His mom was seated in front of the window, the VI standing next to her chair, ever-vigilant. Her head still bent crooked, but her mandibles were shut tight. Pallin probably did that, or one of the nurses.

 

Garrus gave her a hug. "How are you feeling, mom?"

 

"Your father told me about your idea," the VI said in its monotonously pleasant voice. "I do not want it."

 

Well, at least he didn't have to be the one to broach the subject. "Mom, listen. I know we've gone through a lot of disappointments, but I swear, I've seen this work. John's proof of it."

 

"Did John have a debilitating nervous disorder? Was John unable to move for nearly two decades? Was John in constant pain? I am glad that this treatment, whatever it may be, worked on John, but our situations are not the same."

 

"John—he—"

 

Pallin stopped pacing suddenly, his head high in alert. "What do you mean, she hasn't. . .What!" His hand was shaking slightly. "It couldn't have been. I'll call them now, thank you." He hung up and immediately began dialing another number. 

 

"What's wrong?" Garrus asked, his own heart rate rising just at the sight of his father's restrained panic. 

 

"Probably nothing," Pallin croaked. "Give me a minute. I'll put them on speaker."

 

A cheery person answered, asking what she could do for them and thank you for calling blah blah blah.

 

"One of your shuttles departed a few days ago," Pallin said. "Um, I mean, on Jamone, it was a few days ago on Jamone, I don't know what planet you're on. My daughter was on it?"

 

"Did you say Jamone? Hold on, let me connect you with my manager."

 

"Wait, I just—"

 

The line had already been reconnected, and a new voice answered, one much more serious in tone. "Yes, sir, you wanted to inquire about the flight from Jamone?"

 

"Yes, my daughter was on that flight. I just called her school and they said she didn't show up. . ."

 

Garrus almost choked on his own spit. Solana missing school? Even when she was in high school, she never did that. 

 

"Yes," the voice on the other end said. The man asked some questions about the details of the flight, when it departed, Solana's name, and so forth. "I can confirm that that shuttle reached its destination. However, our pilots tell us they were intercepted along the way by Blue Suns mercenaries."

 

Garrus' heart fell into his stomach. Pallin's eyes went wide. "What does he mean?" His mother's VI said, calm as ever. 

 

"Most of the passengers arrived safe and unharmed," the man said. "But the Suns did take some hostages. Two turians, one female and one male. You said your daughter's name was Solana?"

 

Pallin nodded, then realized the man couldn't see him. "Yes," he said. 

 

"Let me check the passenger manifest. . .I'm very sorry, sir. A Solana did board the shuttle, but she was not one of the names checked off at touchdown. Other passengers reported hearing talk about Omega. . ."

 

Pallin's arm dropped. "I can refer you to the authorities so you can file a report. . ." His father hung up. Garrus couldn't move his legs. Pallin's eyes went from horrified to haunted, scattered.

 

"I, I need to. . ." He spun around a couple of times, like a man who had no idea where he was or where he was going, his breath coming in deep, frightening gasps. "I have to go after her. I have to. . ."

 

"Dad," Garrus said, watching his father's face. One of Pallin's mandibles was moving in an odd way. "Dad, calm down."

 

Pallin moved to the door, not acknowledging anything Garrus said. Garrus left his mother's side and moved after him. 

 

"What is going on?" The VI said in its damned pleasant voice. "What is happening? Let me see. Let me see."

 

Pallin reached the door when he suddenly dropped onto his knee, one arm holding the doorway for support. The other arm clutched at his chest. "Dad!" He knelt down and tried to get his father to sit. His breathing was ragged and gasping. One mandible shuddered ceaselessly while the other didn't move at all. "Help!" He called into the hall. Two salarian nurses came running for them. 

 

"Garrus?" The VI said, his mother still facing the window. "What is happening? Pallin? Please, somebody help."

 

The two nurses called a code, and pushed Garrus away while they lay his father on the floor. He didn't resist—couldn't resist, his limbs weak and shaking. One nurse stayed with him to see if he was okay, but he wasn't. Nothing was. As they rushed Pallin away on a mobile bed, all thought, all hope, all reason faded away from his psyche, leaving behind nothing in the universe but yellow-tinged fear. 


	8. Unpredictable

**John**

It took him four hours to get from Earth to Jamone. A likely galactic record, fueled by a lover's concern and a rich bank account. He managed to calm Garrus down and get him to tell what had happened.

When arrived at the hospital, the worst sight he could have seen at that point met him: the media.

They swamped him like vultures on a corpse, human, turian, asari and salarian, and even an elcor; their squawks of "Commander Shepard" overlapping one-another. Little cameras hovered all around him, station logos emblazoned on their sides.

"Is it true your father-in-law has collapsed?"

"Will you be extending your hiatus due to these events?"

"Do you believe this is due to residual stress from the War?"

"Urgently: Can you give any comment on the rumor that you were seen in a therapist's office?"

He pushed through them, used to their parasitic ways. He was thankful to see that Diana Allers was not among them; though she was no Emily Wong, Allers at least held enough respect not to join the paparazzi.

When he reached his mother-in-law's room, he found Garrus sitting in a corner, hard at work on his omni-tool. One hospital bed had become two, the room more than large enough for them both; they must have requested to be together. Pallin lay in the new bed, asleep or unconscious, holographic monitors keeping track of his systems.

Garrus stood up when he noticed John come in. They embraced, Garrus holding him tight in his arms. Garrus' mother was curled up in her bed, facing Pallin, but John didn't know if she was awake or asleep. How could they tell?

"How is he?" John asked.

Garrus sniffed and exhaled, recomposing himself. "They say he'll be fine with lots of rest. It's a good thing it happened here in the hospital, or he might not have. . ." He broke away, letting the sentence finish itself. "I've been trying to call Solana. No luck, of course." He forced a chuckle. "This morning, I was just worried about mom. Now my whole family's in danger and I can't do anything. Mom rescinded the DNR order, at least, but only so she could keep an eye on Dad. She still doesn't want treatment."

"Hey," John said. He didn't know what to say in a situation like this. "It'll be okay. We'll figure it all out."

Pallin stirred in his bed, his eyes opening slowly. He looked around the room, looking confused. When his eyes fell on John, he groaned.

"It wasn't a dream," he said, his voice frighteningly weak. John simply couldn't process the Executor in this condition. Pallin tried to sit himself up, but his arms couldn't hold his own weight. He fell back into the bed with a thud. "Damn it. Solana?"

Garrus rushed to his bedside. "Lay down. It's all right; I'm taking care of it."

Pallin mumbled something. ". . .after her."

"No, you have to rest. Please."

Garrus managed to get Pallin back down—it wasn't as though his father was in any shape to fight him. John stood behind Garrus at the bedside.

"I'll find her," he said over Garrus' shoulder. "Don't worry." Pallin looked at him straight in the eyes, and despite his exhaustion, John could stil read their message clear: You'd better.

"Garrus," Pallin whispered. "I have. . .to. . ."

"Sleep, dad. Rest."

Pallin's eyes kept falling. His head lolled on the pillow. "Solana. . .she's. . ." Before he could finish, his head rested and his words trailed off into quiet murmurs. Garrus adjusted his pillow before letting him rest.

A light blipped in John's peripheral vision. He turned and saw the AI shaped in his mother-in-law's likeness. "John," the VI said. Xenafor's eyes were open slightly; he remembered to look at them when he talked, not at the VI. "It has been a while. I wish circumstances were better. Garrus, how is your father?"

From one bedside to the other, Garrus moved to be closer to his mom. All of the stress of his situation hit John in that moment, just watching him. "He's all right, mom, just sleeping. You should too."

"No." Even with its monotonous voice, the statement seemed to carry a tone of finality. "What are you going to do about Solana?"

John and Garrus shared a look. He wanted to know that, too. "We're going to figure that out, mom. Don't worry."

"I will worry anyway. Keep me updated."

Garrus stood and they walked out of the room together, walking through the hall.

"What can we do?" John asked.

Garrus stopped in the middle of the hall. "Aria. She's in charge of the Suns now; we'll tell her what happened and she can arrange safe transport for Sol. Can you contact her?"

"I don't think so," he said.

"Damn it, why not?"

"I don't exactly have her on speed-dial, Garrus. Is there even any guarantee that she'd help us?"

They resumed their walk, Garrus keeping a step ahead. "She'll help, if only so we'll owe her a favor in return. If it comes to that. . ."

They reached the hospital front entrance. The media vultures were still outside. When they spotted the two of them through the glass doors, the camera shutters immediately went off again.

"Maybe I should go the back way," Garrus said.

"Wait," John said, "what are you doing?"

"I have to go to Omega and get my sister back. What else?"

John put a hand on Garrus' shoulder. "Hold on. What about your parents?"

". . .I was hoping. . .well, will you keep an eye on them until I get back?"

"What?" Him? Taking care of Pallin? Neither of them would like that very much. "But I'm coming with you!"

Garrus shook his head. "No. I need to do this."

"Don't be a stubborn—"

"It's my fault she's gone!" People looked at them. Garrus shrunk and resumed walking. "They took her to get at Archangel, John."

"You're not Archangel anymore."

"I _created_ Archangel. Whether it's me in the suit or this new fool, what difference does it make to Solana? I have to do this on my own. Besides. . .nevermind."

"What?"

"Nothing."

John stopped when he realized what the "nothing" was. "You don't want to trigger any of my episodes."

"I didn't say—"

"God damn it, Garrus, I'm not an invalid!"

Garrus' spine stiffened, and John realized what he just said. "I'm sorry," he said immediately.

Garrus didn't respond. "I want to do this by myself. Keep me posted on my parents' conditions. And talk to Mom about getting the treatment."

"I don't know if I'm the right person for that. If she won't listen to you or your dad. . ."

Garrus shrugged. "You talked the quarians into reconciling with the geth, and, even more impressive, talked the turians into reconciling with the krogan. You convinced the leviathans to join the War, and you managed to talk Saren into killing himself. You can be pretty convincing with words." He turned to look John in the eyes. He had known Garrus long enough to read his every facial expression, different as it was from a human's, and he could tell that the smile he wore was a sad one. "Me, I need money and bullets to convince anyone of anything, and my mother doesn't care about either."

There was no point in responding, John knew. When Garrus got stubborn about something, not even he could talk him out of it—despite his apparent gift for words. "At least wait a few minutes," he said.

"Why? I've wasted enough time."

"It's the Blue Suns, right? I might've. . .called in some backup on my way here."

Garrus looked at him suspiciously. "What kind of backup?"

On cue, the glass doors opened at the front of the hospital. Someone screamed in the lobby when they saw the disfigured man enter, armed to the teeth, and walk up to the two of them like nothing in the world was wrong.

"Right," Zaeed Massani said, his mismatched right eye twinkling with psychotic amusement. "So what kind of trouble have you assholes got into this time?"

* * *

 

**Solana**

Solana stayed in her designated room, too worried to try and leave. A small lamp gave off the only light in the windowless space, exposing a bare-walled room not much bigger than a cell, with nothing but a bed and a small metal table. The only potential weapon was the glass in the lamp's bulb, which would amount to absolutely nothing against guns and armor. She was too afraid to sleep. Nobody came in to disturb her or even open the door, but there was no lock on the inside.

For the millionth time, she tried her omni-tool. For the millionth time, she couldn't even get it to come on. Revealing her real name had been a mistake. If she had kept her mouth shut or just made something up, they might've restored some use to her omni-tool and she could call for help. . .though they probably had a contingency plan for that. But they would never allow her the opportunity to call Shepard; the man had dealt with the Blue Suns multiple times in the past, and it always ended with the Suns reeling. Shepard had even destroyed one of the Blue Suns' most successful private prison ships, before the War ever started.

And then there was her father, who had to have more than enough connections to get to her _somehow_. And Garrus, who would probably destroy everything in his way to get to her. She just had to contact them. . .

The sound of the door sliding open made her jump. She swung at whoever was coming in. Drineax caught her wrist inches away from his face, which looked like it had already been through a beating. Most likely Marina's work.

"Pretty girls usually wait until I say something before slapping," Drineax said, releasing Solana's wrist. "Been getting comfy?"

She stepped back into the room. Drineax remained in the doorway, out of her space. Whatever caused his injuries, they clearly hadn't stopped his sense of humor.

"I want my omni-tool," she said.

Drineax shrugged. "I want a million credits and a couple dozen naked asari consorts. Your omni-tool is decommissioned; I hope you didn't have any important pictures on it. You might have mentioned your family legacy _before_ all of this, you know. I would have left you alone."

"I'm sorry," she said sarcastically. "I was preoccupied."

Drineax poked his head out of the door, as if to check if anyone else was there. "So, uh. . ." he put his head in close. "Is it true? I won't tell anyone if it's not, though there are much better lies you could come up with. Like, 'Hey, you know my dad, the Primarch?'"

"Of course it's true," she said. She realized that her only protection against these people would become moot if they didn't believe she was who she said she was. "If you don't believe me, then give me a working omni-tool and I'll call them myself."

"Yeah, I'll just take your word for it, thanks. So what's he like?"

"Shepard?" She thought about her interactions with him. "He's nice, I guess. We haven't really—"

"Not Shepard—Garrus! Is he really as good a sniper as they say he is? I heard he once calibrated a dreadnought's gun within point-zero-zero-two percent of its—"

The look she gave him shut him up. His mandibles twitched a few times. "I'm sort of a fan."

"You might get to meet him when he comes to blow you all to hell."

Drineax sighed in an exaggerated forlorn way. "I guess kidnapping his sister wouldn't incline him to give me an autograph. Oh well; I'll just have to take you back."

She had stopped listening, until the end. "What?"

"Well, not literally 'back' back, but I guess I could help pay for the airfare or. . ."

Spirits, but the man could test the patience of an elcor. "The point, please?"

"Marina put me in charge of you. Something about causing a mess and therefore being responsible for it." He pointed to his bruised eye and winked. "See, we're in a very difficult position here. We can't kill you or let you get killed, because we like living with all of our organs intact. At the same time, we can't just let you leave; you know where we're based, after all. The sensible option would be for Marina to tell Aria about you and let her handle the fallout from there, but Marina. . .she's new, you see, and she and Aria don't always get along. Now, the leader before her, he would have seen some sense, Archangel took care of him."

Solana tried to process everything he said. "Wait. You were in the Suns when Archangel attacked? I thought they were wiped out."

"They were. The leader, the officers, the strategists, anybody important in the Suns was killed. Just me and a few other lackeys survived, and then, only by accident, lucky us. The other survivors had the sense to get out and go straight, but me. . .I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment."

"So, what, you're going to sneak me out?"

"Well, I'm gonna make it look like you escaped, but same difference. That way, everything resolves itself."

She studied his eyes, looking for any dishonesty. "Marina would be pissed at you. And why would you do that anyway?"

Drineax just grinned. "She can't get more pissed than she was today. As for why I would do it. . .I _really_ want that autograph."

As usual, she couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. He did seem like someone who would do something so insane for such an insane reason, but he could have been trying to trick her. He had to have some ulterior motive. Maybe it was a test to see how she'd react.

"But it can't be right now," he said. "The shifts aren't right for it. It won't be more than a day, I think. Until then, just lay low and do as you're told."

"How can I trust you?"

"You can't. I'm an unpredictable psychopath, remember?" He winked at her again. "All you have is my word, which is admittedly rather worthless, for more reasons than you know. Whether you trust me or not is your business. But I really am on your side, and not because you're related to Garrus Vakarian."

"Then why?" Nothing he said made any sense. 'More reasons than she knew'? What did he mean by that?

He broke eye contact with her for the first time in their conversation, scratching the back of his neck. "Well," he said nervously. "For the trick you showed me. On the plane. You probably wouldn't do it now, I suppose, but you didn't know me back then. You just. . .helped a guy out for no real reason. I like that. It's. . .unpredictable. There needs to be more of that in the galaxy, I think." He cleared his throat and regained eye contact. "Think about it," he said quickly. "I'll let you know when it's time to bolt."

He turned and left the room before she could say anything, the door sliding shut behind him. She stared at the spot where he stood for a while, trying very hard to comprehend the many insanities of the universe.

* * *

 

**Archangel**

He stood in silence, trying not to let his impatience show. Michael and Raphael sat at their respective seats, Raphael tapping his fingers against the metal table. Outside of that room, they had names, identities, and lives of their own. But in here, they took on a new purpose, his purpose; in here, they and their cause were inseparable, their codenames their real names, their outside lives a dream contrasted with a new reality.

The door finally opened, and Gabriel sauntered in, fully armored like the rest of them, and sat down at his seat.

"You're late," he said.

"Sorry," Gabriel replied, "you wouldn't believe the day I've had."

His lieutenants looked at him, waiting for him to start. Heralds of a new generation, waiting for his input. He pressed a button on his omni-tool, and a holographic projection of Omega appeared at the center of the table. "What's our status?" He asked the three.

Raphael spoke first. "The Blood Pack is regrouping their efforts, but they're having a difficult time finding krogan officers. Vorcha mostly dominate now, with a krogan at the helm named Skorn. Aria brought him in from the Skyllian Verge. The intelligence we've gathered suggests they're most likely based here," he "grabbed" the holographic image and spun it ninety degrees, to demonstrate a spot near the aqueduct systems. "What more fitting place than the sewers? Say the word, and I can have a team confirm and destroy the entire operation."

It was what they had already done, and all it amounted to was Aria replacing each group with more mercenaries. Like ants, killing a bunch of them only seemed to reveal a bunch more. He turned to Michael. Even though they both wore visors over their eyes, he could still feel the intense gaze of the turian within.

"Are the Talons amenable?" He asked.

Michael nodded, a slow gesture that carried a tone in itself. Not even Archangel knew whether Michael was incapable of speech or simply unwilling to say a word, but his. . .specific skill set didn't require require that he speak. Only that others speak to him.

"Good." He turned to Gabriel, by far the most difficult of his lieutenants to tolerate, but also probably the most brilliant; he had been invaluable in their previous assault. "And on your end?"

"We're ready to begin the assault on the Blue Suns' base, but we have a small problem," Gabriel said. "Apparently, the Blue Suns have kidnapped Solana Vakarian, sister to one Garrus Vakarian."

 _Solana Vakarian._ He couldn't believe it. A true testament to the small size of the galaxy, he laughed. A low giggle at first, it rose within him into a hysterical cacophony that even frightened him a little bit. The three shifted uncomfortably in their seats, all looking at him, doubtless questioning his sanity. When he finally got himself under control, his stomach hurting from the laughter, he addressed Gabriel again.

"And why," he took a deep breath, "why is this a problem?"

Gabriel returned his gaze. "We can't risk her getting harmed. If Commander Shepard turns against us, then we'll lose everything; the support of the populace, the war against Aria, all of it. Not to mention the fact that we'll all die."

"Shepard is a non-player," Raphael said. "He hasn't involved himself in any military or political disputes since the War ended; he wouldn't come here now."

"Killing his sister-in-law might be enough motivation to bring him out of retirement," Gabriel replied. "And then there's her brother, who very much is still involved, and by what I've read, he has a mean streak."

He had heard about Garrus Vakarian's tendency to carry a vendetta, whether it was in hunting down Doctor Heart or his role in the Reaper War. There were even rumors and theories that he was the original Archangel, based on his legendary sniper skills. . .though he doubted it was true. Regardless, Gabriel's point about losing the populace was correct; if Shepard came out against them, even from a distance, the whole galaxy would follow, including Omega. They could lose everything.

Then again. . .

"The assault continues as planned," he said.

"But—" Gabriel started. Archangel held up a hand.

"Keep her safe. I assume you and your men know what she looks like? But bring her to me. I'd like to speak to her, personally."

"Why's that?" Gabriel asked. Of them all, he was the only one who questioned him and his orders so much. It was both his greatest quality and his most infuriating.

"Commander Shepard would be devastating as an enemy," he said. "But what if we could use the sister to make him an ally?"

Even Michael seemed taken aback by that. Raphael spoke up. "Remember that it was Shepard who gave Aria power over the merc groups in the first place. They've personally worked together in the past!"

"True, but those were more desperate times. Would he be so supportive of her now? Especially if his own family turned against her? I doubt that very much." He turned back to Gabriel. "See it done. As for the rest, we proceed. I've been patient with Aria long enough; if she insists on keeping her mercenaries, then I'll insist on taking them from her until there are none left."

The three of them stood, saluted to him, and left, returning to their other identities for now. He took off his helmet and rubbed at his eyes. He no longer had any other identity to return to. To his followers, and to the galaxy, he was only Archangel, and that was what he would be even to himself. He went over what Gabriel had said to him and laughed a second time. Solana Vakarian. . .what a small, ludicrous galaxy, indeed.


	9. Close-Held Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! I'm sorry for the sporadic updates; life has been. . .less than kind to me lately.

**Garrus**

He drove the shuttle, a small, cramped thing that reminded him of the Kodiak. Even though Zaeed sat in the back compartment, Garrus could still smell the overwhelming stench of alcohol on the man. Yet, Massani never seemed drunk. He could give John a run for his money.

"One-point-thirteen sextillion kilometers, several dozen billion stars, and a missed rerun of the Brady Bunch, all to babysit a little girl," Zaeed said from the back. "I came out of retirement for this."

Upon learning his objective back at the hospital, Zaeed emitted several expletives in the presence of children. He went real quiet when John talked about money, though.

Garrus craned his neck back to respond. "You really don't need to be here, you know. I would rather do this on my own." He had nothing against Zaeed; he rather liked him, in fact. But he had an obligation to make this situation right himself—he had caused it, in a way. Besides, all he had to do was talk to Aria and Solana would be safe. . .if he got there fast enough.

"For what Shepard's paying me, my private bits may as well be glued to your side the whole way. Don't mean I have to like the job, though. When did he get so goddamn boring?"

It was a simple question, but it woke some hidden feelings he tried very hard to ignore. "He's not _boring._ Just. . .changed."

"Yeah, he's changed from the best military commander in the galaxy to Mary Poppins. You sure he wasn't lobotomized before they woke him up?"

He didn't know who Mary Poppins was, but he got the point. "I thought you retired too?"

"Retirement didn't turn me into a sad blob, now did it?"

"Let no one question your sunny disposition, Zaeed."

"You're goddamn right."

They docked in a small station in Omega. Upon exiting, two vorcha with Blood Pack armor approached them, hands held out for payment.

"This private dock!" One hissed, his absurdly long yellow teeth snapping together. "Triple price for outsiders!" The second one reached for his gun. Zaeed started to grab his own, but Garrus stopped him.

"We're here to see Aria," Garrus said.

The first vorcha snarled. "Lie! Aria not seeing anybody today!"

"She and I are. . .old friends. She wouldn't like to know we were charged triple here. The ones responsible would be _severely punished._ "

The vorcha's crimson-red eyes darted about in a moment of doubt. With a scant few exceptions, vorcha weren't known for their intelligence.

"Tell you what," Garrus said, "We'll pay you what we normally pay to get here, and then when we go see Aria, if I'm not being honest with you, I'll pay the full price. Deal?"

The two vorcha shared a look. The one with the gun shrugged its bony shoulders. "Deal," the first one said. "Pay normal price!"

"Here you go," Garrus handed a chit with fifty credits. "See? No harm done."

The vorcha took the chit and the two walked off, snarling victoriously at eachother.

"Well," Zaeed said, "my way would have been cheaper. And more fun."

"I'd rather not announce ourselves to Aria with a gunfight. Let's go. We can kill them on the way back."

Out of all the senses, scent has the strongest tie to memory. As Garrus walked along old streets he recognized, the many smells of Omega brought back his time as Archangel. Like the scents, most of the memories were unpleasant. But, just as the air occasionally brought in a whiff of smoked meat from one of the stalls in the lower levels, he also caught the threads of precious good memories; leading his gang in yet another successful raid, the celebrations afterward, finding John alive again after two years. The stinking pile of rock and metal that was Omega was his home once, and though he never knew just how far the ramifications of Archangel's actions would reach, he still didn't regret his time there. . .except for when he lost his team. And now, Solana would add a new regret.

He reached into a compartment in his armor and pulled out a cold little object that he hadn't used in a long time. John said his face looked naked without the visor, when he first retired it. The ten names of his team were all still there, etched into the side. And the eleventh name remained too, furiously scratched out, but still there, having left its mark like its owner left his on Garrus. There would be no more names. He turned the visor on, the blue projection sparkling to life like it had only been out for a few hours. It still fit.

Some people stared and pointed at him along the way. A few jumped up and ran in the opposite direction.

"Guess you don't got a lotta fans around here," Zaeed said.

"I think they're running from you," Garrus replied. "Your face would definitely scare me off."

Zaeed grunted. "You're one to talk. You're like a turian Harvey Dent without the fashion sense."

The banter helped alleviate Garrus' worries, but he quickened his pace all the same. He missed John. _So why didn't you let hime come with you?_ He asked himself. The answer was both simple and complex: He missed the way John was, during the War and even before that. Back then, he had been stronger, immovable in his convictions, practically a force of nature in his own right. A commander worthy of the title. Garrus not only loved him; he _admired_ him. He still loved him, but now. . .he didn't know. He couldn't blame John for wanting to leave military life, and he certainly couldn't blame him for any residual problems from the War, but John the Civilian was a different man from John the Commander.

_He's your husband,_ his conscience said, in a voice conspicuously similar to his father's. _Get over it._

_"_ Goin' somewhere?" Zaeed's voice interrupted his internal monologue. Garrus looked up and saw that he almost walked right past Afterlife, Omega's cultural center and Aria's base of operations. The line to get in, usually ridiculous, was now practically nonexistent. Archangel's work, most likely. Afterlife had gone from a seedy nightclub to a battle station. Two elcor bouncers guarded the entrance, their relatively tiny eyes following him closely.

As he approached the entrance, the two elcor took very slow steps to him, each one imposing their tremendous weight. If the elcor held the speed of other races, they would be more dangerous than the krogan.

"Threateningly," one began, his low, monotonous voice as heavy as his footsteps. "Stay right where you are. Weapons are not permitted."

Garrus held his hands up and put on his most non-threatening voice. "No trouble. I just need to speak to Aria."

"Authoritative: Aria is not seeing any turians until Archangel is dealt with."

"He's not a turian," Garrus said, pointing at Zaeed.

"With great sarcasm: Really? I couldn't tell."

This bullshit was going nowhere. "I'm Garrus Vakarian. You know, Commander Shepard's husband?"

"Distrusting: I know who you are. No turians."

"I have information. About Archangel." It was a lie, of course, but he had to get through these idiots.

"Cautious cynicism: If you had information, you would have opened with that."

"It's for Aria's ears only. Hence why I'm here to see Aria. See? We've come full circle. Now let us in."

The two elcor looked at eachother, a motion that took two whole minutes to complete. "Menacingly: You may come in, but we're watching you very closely. Leave the weapons. And disable the omni-tools."

Garrus complied, leaving his pistol and his rifle, and disabling his omni-tool. His visor, however, he kept. Zaeed sighed and unstrapped a utility belt full of grenades, unsheathed two knives, dropped four pistols and his assault rifle, and unspooled a small roll of wire contained in his sleeve before turning his omni-tool off. When he saw Garrus staring at him, he shrugged and went inside.

Garrus followed behind him. The entry hall of Afterlife normally radiated with neon lights that thrummed to the muffled music, patrons entering or leaving or just hanging around, but now it was dark and deserted.

The heart of the club looked like an alien planet without its signature music and dancers. Though Afterlife had gone quiet, there was still the noise of patrons drinking, chattering, and occasionally arguing. Garrus noticed a distinct lack of turians in the club; even Aria's guards, who were more uptight and numerous than ever, seemed to consist entirely of humans and batarians, with a few salarians here and there. The guards all kept their eyes on him and Zaeed.

Zaeed took a seat at the bar in the center of Afterlife. "I'll be here if you need me," he said. He ordered a drink and threatened to strangle the bartender if he slipped anything poisonous. "Oh, and this is going on your bill. On-the-job expenditures and all that."

Garrus left him to his drinking. _The ever-diligent bodyguard._ As he approached the familiar steps to Aria's little pavilion, he already knew he would have to deal with at least one who wouldn't be so easy to pass.

"Back off," the human said. He was in full armor, like a soldier on a battlefield, and he aimed his impressively large gun at Garrus' forehead.

"I'm Garrus Vakarian. I need to—"

"Don't care who you are or what you need; nobody sees Aria without notice, especially not a turian."

Garrus sighed. The guard wasn't about to be tricked out of his post, and any use of force would cause a shootout. He'd have to be more direct in his approach.

"ARIA!" He called up the stairs. "We need to talk!"

The guard started, but quickly regained his composure. "All right, piss off now, or—"

He cut himself off, putting a hand to his ear. Garrus crossed his arms and tapped his foot. Finally, the guard lowered his gun and waved him in, returning to his post without a word. At least he was disciplined. Garrus gave him a wink and went up the steps.

Aria's room was filled with more guards than he'd ever seen. Two guarded both entryways, and three more stood at both walls. Only one of them was a turian. One approached him with an omni-tool lit up. Garrus lifted his arms and allowed the guard to scan him for weapons. Satisfied, the guard let him take a few steps toward Aria, who sat at her usual perch on the dark couch.

"Close enough," the guard said threateningly.

Aria lifted her hand. "He's fine." She gestured for Garrus to sit. He remained standing.

"I wasn't expecting visitors," Aria said. "So imagine my surprise when I learned the famous Garrus Vakarian docked on my station."

"You knew I was here?"

"Of course."

"The Blue Suns have my sister," Garrus said, not in the mood for banter. "Care to explain to me why that is?"

Aria blinked. Apparently, she didn't know _everything_ that went down on Omega. "I gave no such order," she said.

"I know, because you know that I'd kill you if you did. But you can give the order to release her."

Aria nodded to one of her guards, who typed something into an omni-tool and brought it before her. He had to stoop slightly to keep it at her eye level, which looked like an uncomfortable position to hold for more than a minute, but the guard didn't even wobble. "How long has this been going on?" Aria asked him.

"At least a couple of days." He was surprised at how helpful she was being. There was a favor on the horizon; he could practically smell it, and he had a good idea of what it would be.

The omni-tool came to life, and a holographic projection appeared above the guard's hand, depicting a grizzled human woman who looked none too happy to be there. "Aria," the woman said.

"Funny story, Marina. I just heard that the Blue Suns— _your_ Blue Suns—have Garrus Vakarian's sister. Now, I'd like to laugh this story off and be on my way, because you've reported no such thing to me and I know you would never be _so fucking stupid_ as to do such a thing, but my source is very. . .convincing. Care to explain why I'm hearing this?"

Marina hesitated, her holographic form looking around whatever room or area she was in. "It was a mistake on the part of one of my men. I assure you, we are handling the situation—"

"Let me explain something to you. Your 'handling' of this situation started at incompetent and became a hairsbreadth short of 'treasonous' the moment you decided not to inform me immediately. You may have been in charge of whatever group of half-literate imbeciles you lead in the Verge, but here, you answer to me, you report to me, and your mistakes are punished by me. I want the girl transported here—"

"No," Garrus interrupted. Aria and the woman called Marina looked up at him. "I'll go get her myself." Transports were dangerous; if Archangel's gang intercepted them, thinking Solana was a Suns mercenary, she'd be killed.

"That won't be necessary," Marina said, her tone flat and hard, like a woman who knew she fucked up.

"I think it will be," Garrus replied.

Aria returned to the holograph. "Make sure she's cared for until he arrives. And Marina. . . we'll continue this discussion later, I promise you."

Marina nodded subserviently, and the image disappeared. The guard stood and returned to his post.

Aria lifted her hands as though she just performed a miracle and expected applause. "See? No harm done."

Garrus nodded his thanks and turned to leave.

"Now," Aria said behind him. _Knew it._ He turned back and waited.

"Maybe you can help me with something." She gestured for him to sit again. This time, he did.

"Archangel?" He asked.

"Or his biggest sycophant. My crew has had no luck tracking him down, and you just saw the kind of people I have leading my mercenaries, who are stretched thin enough as it is."

"So you want to enlist me to solve your problems?"

"A former C-Sec investigator could come in handy for finding someone, yes. And he needs to be found. This iteration has the idea that he'll depose me if I don't wave my magic wand and make Omega a paradise."

Garrus leaned over, thinking. "Not interested."

"And why not?"

"Well, first off, I'm not entirely sure I disagree with him." If Aria was surprised or incensed, her face didn't show it. "And second, hunting down a dangerous vigilante is not on my charity list."

Aria leaned back in her seat, looking as comfortable as one could in her position. "I'm not asking you to work for free, though a more grateful person might remember that I just saved his sister's life. Name your price."

The rejection was on his lips even as it died. Omega was the single largest producer of Element Zero in the Terminus Systems; Aria was essentially the owner of a gold mine. Though her living situation seemed modest, Aria was probably one of the richest people alive. And he needed money for his mother's treatment. . .

The corner of Aria's mouth twitched slightly. Garrus had blinked, and she saw it. He sat back in his seat, trying to appear as relaxed as her, and opened up his omni-tool.

"Need to make a quick call," he said. He typed in a number.

Within a few moments, Miranda's holographic image appeared over the omni-tool. "How did you get this number?" Miranda asked.

"Research." Once he knew where she lived, it wasn't hard to ind her omni-tool's number. "About that thing we talked about earlier. . .could you tell me again how much that would cost?"

Miranda recited the number. Aria's face turned a slightly paler shade of blue.

"Thank you, Miranda." Garrus hung up and turned his attention back to Aria, the upper hand his own once again. "My price."

Well, the smile had certainly vanished. "You have to be joking," she said. "What in black hell could cost that much?"

"Not your concern."

"Am I made of credits now? I might as well sell Omega to Archangel to pay for his head."

"Half, then." Garrus could provide the other half with his own money, though even that amount was still astronomical. "Final offer. Or find someone else to hunt Archangel."

Aria's face contorted into an annoyed knot. "Fine. But I'm not paying a single credit until after you've found him."

"Fair enough. Once Solana's off Omega, I'll get started."

He stood, extended his hand and, surprisingly, Aria shook it. "I always found it interesting," she said, sitting back down, "how Commander Shepard came here all those years ago looking for the first Archangel. Instead, Archangel and his team died. . .and Shepard left with you."

Garrus looked directly into her eyes. "Yes," he said. "Life is full of coincidences, isn't it?"

"Not as many as we think, Vakarian. Tell Shepard I said 'hi.'"

He turned and left, deciding to focus on the safety of his sister.

* * *

**Solana**

She had finally managed to fall asleep for the first time since she left Jamone. Before laying down, she placed the lamp that had been on the table on the ground in front of the door. Hopefully, anyone who might try to sneak in on her would trip and wake her up. Not that there would be much she could do about it, but still. Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she drifted off to sleep. . .

And was woken up by a clatter, followed by a string of curses.

She jumped to her feet, still on the bed. Drineax picked up the lamp and looked at her like she was crazy.

"Seriously?" He said. He dropped the lamp onto the bed, his expression oddly serious. "Plan's changed. We need to go _now."_

"What?" Her head was still buzzing from the abrupt wake-up call. "What happened to—"

"It _changed._ Now let's go; we're under a time limit."

She still didn't trust him, but her choices were either to follow him or stay in that room until someone else—like Marina—came for her instead. So she nodded and followed him out of the room. Drineax walked at a fast, restrained pace, like he wanted to run but running would look too suspicious. They passed several human, turian and batarian mercenaries who watched them as they went—her, particularly.

"Stay close," Drineax whispered. "Don't talk to anyone. Look like you'd rather be dead than following me."

"Right now, that's not too hard," she whispered back. "Where are we going?"

" _You_ are going to meet some friends of mine, who'll get you somewhere safe."

"And you?"

He didn't answer.

They exited the hall and Drineax turned to go up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Solana asked. The exit was down, not up.

"Snipers," was his only reply. She followed him up and into the room with the overlook. The snipers were the only two mercenaries there, everyone else either asleep or on patrol elsewhere. Drineax signaled for Solana to get behind the nearby sofa. She ducked down and listened.

"Anything to report?" Drineax said.

"Nah," one of the snipers replied. "I don't even know why we're here. Not even Archangel's stupid enough to come at us with that bridge in. . .what the fu—"

There was a shuffle of noise, grunts, two silenced gun shots, and the thud of bodies hitting the ground. She hesitantly peeked over the couch. Drineax was looking out the window at the bridge below. He cursed when he saw the two batarian guards on the bridge. "It couldn't have been Jones or Wexler, oh no, it had to be. . ."

The other two were dead, bullet holes in their heads.

"You killed them?" Solana stared at the bodies in shock. Why would Drineax kill his own people? For her?

"Well, I can't exactly tie them up and throw them in a closet, now can I?"

"But what if they find out it was you?"

Drineax chuckled darkly. "After tonight, they're not going to care one bit. Their replacements aren't coming for another couple of hours. Come on."

They went down the stairs, Solana wondering what he meant. They left the building without further incident, but as they emerged onto the wide bridge, Drineax took a much more guarded stance.

One of the guards saw them and approached. "Drin?" The guard said. His head turned toward Solana. "Going somewhere?" He didn't point his gun at them, but he didn't lower it either. The second guard stood back and watched.

Drineax grabbed Solana's wrist and yanked her toward him. "Evening, Korik. Thought I'd show our honored guest some of the more appealing sights of the place. Privately."

Korik looked at him incredulously, his four eyes blinking two at a time. Then he laughed. "The stones you have—! The girl's supposed to be unharmed, remember?"

"She's hardly unwilling." He tugged her arm and, following his lead, she moved in uncomfortably close. "Besides, think of the bragging rights! From now on, you'll all know me as the guy who fucked Commander Shepard's sister-in-law. As long as you stay quiet about it."

Korik shook his head. "Can't let you leave, O Great One. Her brother could be here any minute, and—"

"What?!" Solana jumped at the mention of Garrus. "My brother's coming here?" She looked at Drineax, who turned his face away. _And he knows._

"Drin didn't tell you? Marina got blasted by Aria earlier, saying your brother's coming to pick you up." Korik looked at Drineax suspiciously. "In fact, he was supposed to tell you an hour ago." Korik's gaze went up to the sniper perch in the hideout, the grip on his gun tightening.

Drineax lunged forward, his knife appearing in his hand faster than Solana could notice, and drove the blade into Korik's upper-left eye. He grabbed Korik's crumpling body as the other guard lifted his gun and fired at him, using the corpse as a shield for the first round of fire. He took out his pistol and began firing at the other guard while slowly approaching.

"Go!" He said to her. Her feet didn't move. The other guard seemed to take great care not to fire at her. Was Garrus really coming for her? Why was Drineax risking so much to get her out if he knew she was going to be safe anyway?

The noise from the gunfire would draw out the mercenaries inside, and they may not be so discerning about firing at her. She ran to the other end of the bridge. The other guard stopped firing to grab at her arm; she kicked at his leg, but his armor made it like kicking a concrete pillar.

Drineax took advantage of the guard's distraction to drop Korik and fire a few close-range shots into the guard's head. His grip on Solana immediately loosened as he fell. Drineax took hold of her arm and ran, pulling her along.

She tried to pull away from him. "What are you doing!"

She couldn't break out of his grip, so instead she jumped at him, throwing him off and sending both of them tumbling to the ground. She broke free from him for a split second, only to be grabbed again at the ankle.

"Listen to me," Drineax said through deep breaths. "This place is going to be up in flames before your brother gets here. You're not safe."

"Let! Me! Go!" She kicked at his face with her free foot, but his grip still didn't loosen.

"Stupid girl!" He grabbed her other foot and she fell back, her carapace painfully slamming against the ground. Drineax got up and stood over her, his feet pinning her arms down.

""I really am on your side," he said, blood running down his chin where she kicked him. "You stay here, and you very well could die. They'll be here any moment and they're going to kill everyone they see."

"Who?" She tried to kick him again, but her legs couldn't reach his. Her arms felt like they were going to break under his weight.

"My team! I'm—"

The sound of a gun cocking interrupted him. Solana turned her head and saw Marina with at least twenty other mercenaries all aiming their guns at them. Drineax finally stepped off of her arms, but she didn't sit up for fear of being shot.

"What the everliving _fuck_ is going on?" Marina said.

Drineax made a relieved sound, his posture turning relaxed and casual. He put his arms behind his back, and Solana noticed him types something into his omni-tool. "Took you guys long enough. I found the girl trying to escape. Looks like she got a pistol and—"

"And stabbed Korik in the eye with _your_ knife?" Marina finished, pointing at the knife at Drineax's waist, still red with the batarian's blood.

"Ah." Drineax's shoulders dropped slightly. It was the only sign that he was bothered. "Well, shit."

Marina shifted her aim toward Solana. "I don't care who you are or what Aria says; you kill my men, you die."

"Hey!" Drineax stepped to the side, blocking Solana. "She didn't kill anybody; hell, she tried to get away from me!"

"Don't worry, Drin, I plan to kill you too. But first, I want to know why. Did you work out a deal? Or did you just hope she'd open her legs for her hero? Is that why you didn't tell her about her brother coming? You always did think with the wrong head."

Solana slowly got to her feet behind Drineax. She heard several guns clack as they pointed in her direction. She looked toward the other end of the bridge; so close to safety, but there was no way they could run for it. There was no cover to hide behind, nothing but open space for them to be shot at the moment they turned. It was all over.

Was someone moving back there?

Drineax's omni-tool beeped, and he grinned. Guns all trailed on him, Marina's face red with anger, and he actually grinned. "You know what your problem is, Marina? You always freak out."

The woman cocked her head slightly, apparently trying to process the scene in front of her. Solana did the same thing. Then everything went to hell.

She didn't see the explosion insomuch as she felt it. In the corner of her eye, she saw some small thing fall into the crowd before them, then a few confused looks, then an ear-shattering blast followed by Drineax pushing her toward the end of the bridge. Several people in full armor ran in their direction, their guns held up and firing, but at the Suns instead of them. Someone shouted something, but the ringing in her ears dulled it down into a muted warble.

She looked back toward the base, and stopped. Drineax said that his team would kill everyone they saw. _The other hostages._ They were still inside!

All in an instant, she was back in that school on Palaven, surrounded by people she'd left behind in order to save herself. They had certainly died, and though there was nothing she could have done to prevent it had she stayed, even the passage of five years couldn't erase her guilt. And now it was happening again; here she was, rushing away from danger while others would have to wait for their deaths.

There was nothing she could do on Palaven. But she had to do _something_ on Omega.

She ran across the bridge for the base. Drineax was nowhere to be found; most of the shooting had moved on from the bridge already. She picked a pistol off a fallen Blue Suns mercenary, very aware of her lack of any armor. Hopefully the invaders wouldn't think she was with the Suns.

Gun in hand, she made her way into the base, keeping behind walls and ducking into whatever cover she could find. Most of the shooting was coming from up the stairs; two of the newcomers were positioned at the bottom, their guns pointing upwards as they slowly moved forward. The other hostages were probably on the same floor where she was kept; how was she going to get past the fighting without getting shot?

She did the only thing she could think of. "Hey!" She called to them. One of them, a human, turned his gun on her immediately. Then he lowered it.

"What the hell are you doing here? You need to be—"

She took the moment to run past him and his partner up the stairs. The second one fired a shot, but the bullet cleared her shoulder and hit the ceiling up above.

"Don't shoot her!" She heard the human say. "She's the one we need to bring in."

She ducked behind the nearest cover, an old sofa that had been shot to bits. A Blue Suns mercenary lay dead on the ground next to her, presumably after using the same cover. _Just one more flight of stairs._

A hand grabbed her arm. The human from before jerked her toward the stairs.

"We need you alive, woman!"

"Not without the others!"

"Whatothers?"

She kicked free of him and bolted for the stairs. Several shots were fired from across the room, but she managed to reach the stairs without being shot. She ran to the top without thinking, and nearly crashed into a Blue Suns guard in full armor. He pushed her back and raised his gun to fire. She fired first; though her pistol would be useless against his armor, she was able to knock his gun out of his hand long enough to get away toward the common room.

There were several rooms to choose from here, and she had no idea where the others might be. Could they have gotten out already?

She heard a woman's voice, probably Marina, bark orders from somewhere nearby. She ducked into the nearest room she could reach.

The moment she entered the room, a heavy force of dark energy knocked her on her back, sending the gun flying out of her hand. Dazed, she lifted her head and saw the faint blue outline of an asari.

"Felicia?" She said.

The girl gasped. "I'm sorry!" She said. "I thought you were one of them!" Felicia helped Solana to her feet and closed the door with the push of a button. "I could have killed you!"

Solana rubbed the back of her neck where she could already feel the whiplash forming. "I'm all right. Is everybody—?"

"We're here," the human woman said, a five-fingered hand emerging from behind a toppled table. Solana realized she never got her name. The room was large, probably a master bedroom at one time, with no windows or any other way to exit. She saw a fresh blue stain on the ground leading to that table. When she followed it, she saw Loryias on the ground, clutching his side. everyone else was there too, except Felicia, who shakily guarded the door with her biotic abilities.

"He's in bad shape," the human man said when he saw her look at Loryias. The turian grunted.

"Looks worse than it is. Ah!" He spasmed in pain. Solana knelt down to take a look at him. There was no exit wound and only minimal bleeding, which meant the bullet was still inside and was likely the only thing keeping him from bleeding out. If it pierced his pancreas, his body could end up digesting itself.

"Anybody a doctor?" She said. Of course, they weren't; she was probably the most medically experienced of any of them, but even she couldn't help with something like this, not without the necessary tools and a lot of divine intervention.

The noise outside of the room grew louder every moment. Eventually, somebody would bust into that room like Solana had, and they were all unarmed.

The invaders, whoever they were, seemed to know who she was. The human from the stairs did, at any rate. If they wanted her, then maybe she could persuade them to help the others. Their best hope was to wait there and bar the door until the fighting was over.

The thought had barely entered her head when the door slid open, this time for Marina. Felicia let out another biotic shockwave that surprised the human, but it didn't knock her back like it did for Solana. Marina dug her feet into the ground and merely staggered for a moment. Solana seized that crucial moment to close the door. As the metal doors slid shut, they came to an abrupt stop near the meeting point with a loud _clang!_ Marina's arm protruded from the center, her armor having stopped the door from shutting. Marina forced the doors open as Felicia staggered back. She wouldn't have enough energy for another shockwave, not after expending two rounds in a row.

Solana gestured for Felicia to get back. The chaos outside of the room had died down somewhat. A dark red stain ran down Marina's side. Despite Solana's limited experience with human expressions, she could clearly see the hellish fury in Marina's eyes.

"At least I get to kill you," she said, lifting her gun.

"Marina!" A voice called from the room outside. Marina's head turned. Drineax had traded his pistol for an assault rifle at some point, the barrel of which now aimed at Marina's head. "Drop your weapons," he said.

Marina didn't obey. "What _was_ this?" She asked him. "Why?" Drineax didn't respond, but Marina read something in the silence. She snickered, turning back toward Solana. "Of course. The one survivor. . ."

"Last chance, Marina! Drop your weapons and surrender."

Marina looked at Solana. "Archangel doesn't take prisoners," she called back. Her gun lifted, pointed at Solana.

Time stopped.

Her joints burned with energy as she recalled her training in physical mnemonics. In the span of less than a hundredth of a second, she commanded her own nervous system to fire the exact neurons she needed, in the exact sequence she needed. They fired down her spine and into her arm. With a gesture, Solana produced a biotic shockwave that blew Marina back before anyone could process what happened.

Drineax fired his rifle at Marina at the same time. The woman's expression of shock remained with her after she died, her eyes permanently left wide open with confusion and anger.

Solana fell back on her ass. Felicia clambered up next to her, arms outstretched, though the girl provided little support.

Drineax stepped into the room, looked down at the two of them. _He saw. He saw me._

"Nice going, Felicia," Drineax said, referring to the asari by name for the first time. "You really knocked Marina back."

Felicia blinked a couple of times. Solana joined her. "But I—" she started.

"Yes!" Solana interrupted, a small surge of hope budding up in her chest. Maybe Drineax hadn't seen her? "Great job! You're a hero. Thank you."

"But—"

"Loryias needs help," the human woman said from somewhere behind Solana. "He's barely conscious."

Drineax whistled and waved a couple of people into the room. Both turians, they took Loryias out on a makeshift stretcher made from a blanket. Drineax himself knelt down by Solana. She tried to stand, but her legs couldn't hold her weight anymore.

"You," Drineax said, pointing a finger in her face, "are nothing but trouble. Running back in here nearly killed both of us."

"What's going on?" She barely had enough breath to say it.

Then he grinned, and stood up straight. He stretched out a hand, and, unable to argue, she took it, letting him pull her to her feet as she rested most of her weight on his shoulder. "You're also full of surprises," Drineax whispered, turning his head to wink at her. "I've never had a friend from the Cabals before."

_Oh no._

* * *

**John**

Pallin suddenly shot awake, looking around like he had no idea where he was.

"Sol? Sol!"

John rushed to his side. It was the first time Pallin moved in hours. "Hey," he said, trying to calm his father-in-law down. "You're in the hospital, remember?"

Pallin focused on him for a moment. Then he groaned as he lay back.

"Are you going to make that noise every time?" John asked.

"I always make it in my head," Pallin said. "Where's Garrus?"

"He went to get Solana. We have a very good lead that he's chasing."

Pallin smiled, a sight John rarely got to see. "That's good." Then his expression turned serious again. "Why aren't you with him?"

"He didn't want to leave the two of you alone."

Pallin quirked his head. "Okay, but _why aren't you with him_? Are you telling me you sent my son to deal with mercenaries on his own?"

"No! He's with—"

Pallin groaned as he sat up. "You've changed."

"Excuse me?"

"When you walked into my office seven years ago, you were going to find Saren no matter who was going to _let_ you or tell you no. Remember? You and Garrus both defied the Council. You took my son and charged into all manner of hells, and you kept eachother safe through all of it. Now you're sitting this out, just to watch me sleep?"

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Even decrepit and bedridden, Pallin was criticizing him. "You've had a heart attack," he said, trying not to shout. No sense in giving the turian another one. "You're—"

"In a hospital, with plenty of doctors to keep me alive. Garrus asked you to stay? Are the two of you fighting or something?"

"No, we're perfectly—"

"Then you should be out there with him! What happened to the stubborn human who sauntered into my office?"

"A _war_ happened, damn it!" John stood up, his temper overtaking him. "Cerberus conscripted me, the Collectors destroyed my ship, the Reapers invaded, and billions of people lived or died by my every single decision. Now entire economies rise and fall every time I sneeze, and when I try to help I get pissed on by a cranky ex-cop in a hospital bed! So I've mellowed out—I saved the galaxy and everyone in it, I think I deserve a break!"

Pallin stared at him, his mandibles parted slightly in astonishment. John sighed and tried to let the hot air out.

"I am sorry."

The holographic turian image appeared. His mother-in-law was awake. "You have suffered so much," she said. "It is easy for us to forget that. But we are worried sick for our daughter—and Garrus."

He looked at the eyes of the woman stuck in a bed for decades. "Me too," he said. Why _didn't_ he follow Garrus? It was true, he would have years ago, but now. . .it was like the will was gone. Where did it go?

He turned to Pallin. The older turian was also looking at his wife. How long had he been taking care of her in that state? "I'm sorry," he said.

Pallin kept looking at Xenafor. "I suppose I worry too much about her," he said. "But. . ." He looked John in the eyes with a steeled expression, like what he was about to say would physically hurt. "When the Corpalis started, we didn't know anything was wrong at first. She started dropping things on occasion, or fumbling with buttons on her clothes. We just thought she was getting clumsy. Then she started tripping. . ."

"One day, I could not get back up." The image finished in its monotone voice.

"Garrus was a teenager when the diagnosis came," Pallin resumed. "We were given two years. Three at best. That's the typical prognosis for someone with Corpalis, and that's after the nerve damage. It's a miracle she survived this long, but back then, we knew we only had a limited amount of time left together." Then Pallin did something John never thought he'd see. He broke eye contact. "We were desperate in the beginning. We tried anything—any miracle cure or mud-drink those homeopathic quacks cooked up to stall the disease, we tried it. At one point, we used eezo dust."

"Pallin." Xenafor's eyes were focused on him.

"We didn't know at the time, but. . .she was pregnant." Pallin chuckled slightly. "Diagnosed with Corpalis, and still pregnant. We found out nearly a week after using the eezo dust. We stopped once we knew, but it was too late."

"Pallin," the hologram said again.

Realization dawned on John as he listened. "So Solana was exposed to Element Zero in utero. . ."

Pallin nodded. "Yes. Solana is a biotic, Shepard. And if anyone ever finds out, her entire life will be destroyed."


	10. New Faces, Old Worries

**Garrus**

It was an unwelcome feeling, the twinge of nostalgia he got as he made the familiar trip to his old hideout. Of course the Blue Suns would establish a base there; it was a symbol of their "victory" against him all those years ago, after all. Old memories awoke within as he passed old landmarks, some good, most bad.

The bad ones all came at once when he reached the bridge.

He drew his gun the moment he saw the first body. His visor read "deceased" as it scanned various corpses in Blue Suns armor. Zaeed also drew his weapon, going in ahead of Garrus.

"Solana!" He called out. His voice echoed against the metal foundations.

"Shut up, you idiot!" Zaeed said. "Don't announce that we're here!"

It was a rookie mistake, but Garrus didn't care. He ran through the bridge and into the hideout. The area was quiet, and various smells implied that whatever happened happened a while ago. His heart stopped every time he saw a female turian on the ground, but none of them were Solana.

"What happened here?" He asked no one in particular. Of course, he knew exactly what happened—the same thing happened to his own team long ago. He relived every heart-shattering moment of his team's slow death at the hand of the mercenaries, and now here he was again, looking for his sister in the same place his own men had died. . .

"SOLANA!"

Satisfied that they were alone, he and Zaeed split up and combed the hideout. Garrus already knew every room and level of the place, though the Suns had brought in new furniture and weapon stores since his last time there. On the third floor, the dark stain from when he was injured still decorated the ground. Bodies lay everywhere, red and blue blood mixed in congealed puddles. Marina was among them, her face permanently twisted into a terrified expression. Solana was nowhere to be found.

Did Aria mislead him somehow? No, he saw Marina's image back in Afterlife, alive and well. Whatever happened, happened between then and now. It must have been a quick, coordinated assault. All of the bodies he found were in Blue Suns armor; either the raiders took their dead or none of them died in the fight. Which meant they were organized and experienced.

Zaeed met him on the second floor. "No sign of anyone," he said. "You think Archangel hit 'em?"

It had to be Archangel. Spirits, but he _just missed her._ Maybe she escaped? She had to know he was on his way, though; she would have returned to meet him, or met him somewhere on the way. Captured? Again?

"They won't hurt her," Garrus said, mostly to himself. They had to know who she was if they went to the trouble of taking her. Know who her relations were. Maybe that was why they took her—to get to him?

"What do you want to do?" Zaeed said. Now that they were in the midst of a real conflict, he became much more serious. More mercenary-like. Garrus was finally glad to have him.

If Archangel really did have Solana, then there was only one thing he could do. "We're going back to Afterlife." He'd be fulfilling his end of his deal with Aria much sooner than he expected.

* * *

**John**

John let a few minutes pass after his in-laws' revelation about Solana. "You said her life would be destroyed if anyone found out. Why? And why tell me? Why now?"

"One question at a time, please," Pallin said. "There is a certain stigma toward biotics in turian society. We have relatively very few biotics among the entire turian population, on and off Palaven—in fact, only the salarians have fewer biotics than us. They are considered with suspicion. Biotics in our history have been painted in a dark light, used as assassins and saboteurs during the Unification Wars, and now, even though our culture can accept backgrounds of all varieties, we still distrust them. I know humans have a similar distrust of their biotics, but yours is due to novelty; ours is more ingrained, going back centuries. A turian biotic is automatically assigned to a Cabal."

John had heard of that before. Nyreen Kandros had come from a Cabal. . .she didn't have many positive things to say about it.

"The Cabals are fine units," Pallin said, "but they are separate from other turian infantry. They're primarily used as shock troops; that was their function during the War. Many of them were killed. And none of them had a choice. Even biotics with non-combative skills are segregated into the Cabals—their life plans, careers, everything destroyed for this. The unwilling ones don't last long. The ones who remain are cold, isolated killers. The Hierarchy claims to do it this way in the name of unit cohesion, but no other aspect of our lives is controlled in such a way—we may not have the same unrestrained liberty human societies tend to flout, but we do still value personal choice and freedom within one's merit. A biotic turian's merit, however, is decided from the moment of their birth. And Solana was meant for more than that."

Pallin paused to take a few breaths.

John was surprised to hear of this. Though he knew Nyreen hated the Cabals, he had no idea that she had been forced into it. The turians prided themselves for being the most progressive society in the galaxy—he always thought that they had evolved beyond such prejudices long ago.

Pallin cleared his throat and continued. "I. . .admit I haven't always been so accepting. Garrus, unfortunately, caught that behavior from me."

John remembered what Pallin had said about humans when they first met, and imagined ho he must have been toward biotics years before. Garrus had never said a negative word about biotics to him. . .though he _did_ distrust quarians, before he met Tali.

"Does Garrus know?" John asked.

Pallin shook his head. "Not because he wouldn't accept her; Garrus would accept his sister no matter what. It's for her own safety. I expended a massive amount of resources covering up our use of eezo, and I made sure Solana grew up knowing to keep her abilities secret. The fewer who knew, the less chance of it ever getting out. If she were exposed, I would bear the brunt of the legal ramifications for concealing her, but she would be taken away regardless."

"So why tell me?"

"Because now she's in danger. Her relation to you would make her exposure much more public, so perhaps you could do something to help her if it ever comes to it. And. . .you've proven to be trustworthy."

It was as close as Pallin ever got to saying he liked John.

"I would prefer," Pallin said, "if you didn't tell Garrus about this. He should hear it from me or Solana, if Sol is ready for him to hear it. He'll be pissed at me, but. . ." He chuckled. "What else is new?"

In the years they'd known eachother, including the five when they were related, they had never quite gotten as close as this. Whether due to mutual stubbornness—mostly Pallin's stubbornness, but still—or their initial encounter, or whatever else, their discussions usually leaned toward the casual, infrequent, and terse. It was the perfect opportunity to crack a joke, but John held it in in deference to the seriousness of the moment.

It was hard, though.

"All right," John said. "I'll leave you alone. But don't overdo it, or Garrus will kill me for leaving."

Pallin tapped a finger on his chin, as if considering whether or not it would be worth it.

"You are not going to join Garrus?" Xenafor asked.

"I have some business to take care of on the Destiny Ascension." Despite their newfound openness, he still didn't want to mention Lanira. "Besides, I'm sure Garrus will be back soon. He'd call if there were any problems."

Xenafor's body lay stock still, her eyes the only things about her that moved, and even those moved slowly. They trailed after John as he moved to her bedside.

"You've suffered a lot too," John said. Even after all he'd been through, he couldn't imagine being in her situation. "Garrus talks about you so much, it's clear how much he loves you. He's willing to do anything to keep you. I know how he feels. We haven't known eachother very long, so I won't try to tell you to change your mind, but. . .I hope you decide to keep going. I've already lost one mother." He gave her hand a squeeze and stood up.

Just as the room's door closed behind him, his omni-tool beeped. It was Garrus.

* * *

**Solana**

Drineax blindfolded her for the trip to. . .wherever they were going. She expected to be tied up too, like Felicia had been, but her arms and legs were free, provided she didn't try to remove the blindfold. She was seated in the backseat of a car, next to someone else, with Drineax driving in the front. It was much more comfortable than the last kidnapping.

"I know it looks like I'm kidnapping you again," Drineax said before he put on the blindfold, "but I promise, there's a reason for the paranoia. Okay?"

It wasn't okay. She'd wanted to stay and wait for Garrus, but her body was far too weak after generating that biotic shockwave. Not to mention everything else the day (night? Who could tell on Omega?) had to offer. It was clear that if she resisted, she'd be carried. But she did demand answers, which Drineax provided in the car.

"In case you haven't figured it out, I work for Archangel." Drineax said it so casually that Solana almost missed it. "And, until today, I also worked for the Blue Suns. Hell of a resignation, wouldn't you say?"

The blindfold made talking to him more difficult than ever. She wanted to look into his eyes while she spoke to him—even though he was clearly an excellent liar, she felt some innate comfort in watching someone's eyes for dishonesty.

"So you were a double agent?"

"Yep! I brought down the Suns in the first raid, too—nobody left to tell Marina it was me, so I just up and did it again. I don't think it'll work a third time, though."

He treated his betrayal of his group like it was a trip to an amusement park. Even though she didn't like the Suns, the idea of someone—a turian, no less—turning on their own allies was disgusting.

"So that's the kind of people Archangel employs?" She asked. "Traitors and killers to reform Omega?"

"Watch it, lady," the one sitting next to her said. The voice was male, and had the higher pitch marking it as salarian.

"Archangel _employs_ anyone who shares his vision for this dump," Drineax went on. He actually sounded slightly offended. "Traitors, killers, thieves, rapists, mercenaries—your past is irrelevant to him, provided it remains in your past. His concern is with the future. The people who join him have the chance to do something good with their lives, to change them around. Yes, I betrayed the Suns—twice—and I killed people. I'll probably kill more, before it's over. But now I'm killing for a cause, and not because some two-bit merc lord. . ."

He stopped mid-sentence, and for a few moments the only sound was the sound of the car hovering through traffic. In all her dealings with him, she had never heard the turian sound so impassioned about something. _I think he almost freaked out,_ she realized.

"Anyway," Drineax resumed, his voice back to its normal nonchalantness, "none of us are employed. The whole operation consists of volunteers. One thing about being a vigilante: the pay sucks."

"So are you taking me to him?" She wanted to know where she was going.

"Yes. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about your brother, but I knew it would just make you more difficult to bring along. He asked for you personally, you know."

"Why does he want to speak to me?"

"Dunno. Probably would be best to ask him that."

"And if I refuse? What if I want to just find my brother and go home?"

"He'll let you. That's why you have the blindfold: can't risk you giving away our hideout if you decide to leave. But I think you'll listen to what he has to say—the man's nothing if not charismatic."

Either way, it seemed she would have to go there whether she wanted to or not. She relaxed as best she could and closed her eyes. Garrus would arrive at the base, if he hadn't already, and find a deserted battleground without her in it. She still had no way to let him know she was okay, and now, not even Aria would know where she was. To make matters worse, Drineax knew about her powers. If she didn't cooperate, he could easily expose her to the Hierarchy—she was a public enough figure due to her relation to Shepard. Strangely enough, though, Drineax never mentioned her powers to any of the other people on his team; he even covered for her back at the base by pretending Felicia was the one to attack Marina.

She had kept that diligently secret her entire life. The only people in the galaxy who knew before this were her parents. . .and one other. Not even Garrus knew the truth about her. She always wondered how he'd react. A little astonished at first, but he'd get over it quickly, she expected. Shepard had a good influence on Garrus in that his mind was much more open since serving on his ship. But she couldn't even tell him; what if it got out by accident? If she were exposed and conscripted into the Cabals, Garrus could get in trouble for hiding it. And her father. . .even when she was little, Pallin stressed secrecy. He hired a private trainer to teach her how to control her abilities and use them in a last-ditch effort for defense. The trainer didn't even know her real name; he always called her "Iris." Even back then, she knew that exposure would mean her father would lose everything. She would always be grateful to him for what he risked for her sake.

The car landed and came to a stop. "We're here," Drineax said. She heard his door open. "Don't take it off just yet."

The guard next to her gave her a somewhat forceful nudge out her side of the car. She certainly hadn't won any favors from _him_. What were salarians doing working with Archangel anyway? She thought his group was all turian. A hand gently pushed her forward, resting on her shoulder to guide her. After the car ride and the fight before, her joints all ached tremendously, particularly her knees and elbows. Still, she made sure to stand straight and walk with some dignity, even though she couldn't see where she was going.

Felicia and the others were gone home, Archangel's men escorting them to safety. Loryias was brought ahead of her, to be worked on by a volunteer surgeon. How many volunteers did Archangel have?

"How widespread is your operation?" Solana asked. "Archangel's, I mean. I assume you aren't him."

Drineax chuckled at that. "I wish, but no, I'm not Archangel. Just one of his top guys. As for the operation. . .after we hit the three merc groups a while back, a lot of people decided to join us. I'd say we have three, maybe four thousand people."

"Four _thousand_?" There was no way Archangel had that many supporters in such a short time. Drineax had to be inflating his numbers. He just had to be.

"Well, take into account that about eight million people live on Omega, and then remember that our antics got galactic attention and brought in a bunch of outsiders, and yeah, we have a lot of people. Not everyone in the operation is in on the Big Action, of course; most people simply volunteer places to hide or donate food or money via anonymous drops. Only a select few ever even get to see the main HQ, let alone work out of it."

"Does everyone get dragged there in a blindfold, or am I just special?"

"The _really_ VIPs get knocked unconscious first." The hand stopped her. A small whoosh of air indicated the opening of a door. Moving forward, the smell of the air changed from the rusty Omega dank to something like an office: she could smell paper, people, and some kind of food that made her stomach growl. She heard some light chatter from a distance, but nobody near her was talking. The hand on her shoulder guided her forward.

"Elevator," Drineax said as they stopped. A _ding_ signaled the elevator's arrival. They stepped inside. By the sudden lurch of its start, she could tell that they were going down. She counted the seconds as they went: _ten. . .twenty. . .thirty. . ._

After about seventy seconds, the elevator shuddered to a stop. Drineax moved her out, and then removed his hand from her shoulder. "Okay," he said. "You can take it off now."

She removed the blindfold. With her were Drineax, another turian, who hadn't said a word the entire way, and the salarian. They were in some sort of very large underground passageway that had clearly once been a tunnel, though now it resembled more of a small city. The height of the walls was so sheer that one could easily think they were buildings, except for the ceiling blocking out the sky above. Looking behind her, she saw the elevator they had used, innocuous save for the two krogan guarding it with guns.

"You have krogan on your team?"

"Of course," Drineax said. "I even saw a hanar down here once, though he may have just been a merchant. Archangel strikes an appeal across all species. So what do you think of the place?"

She looked around. What was she supposed to think about the headquarters for a massive rebellion?

"It's. . .impressive?" What she really wanted to know at that particular moment, however, outclassed any other thought she might have had about the place. "Where's the bathroom?"

The other three all looked at her like she was crazy. The last time she used a toilet was on another planet, and now that her life wasn't in _immediate_ danger, her body was sending her a very pressing reminder of that fact.

"You do know that there were bathrooms at the base, right?" Drineax said. "Did you ever even leave that bedroom?"

She shook her head, not feeling up to any more conversation on the topic. Drineax snickered and dismissed the other two. "Come on, I'll show you."

He walked ahead of her. The others dispersed. For the first time since the Blue Suns' base, she wasn't being watched. She could run. . .but she didn't know where she was. Her only point of reference was the elevator, and to get in there, she'd have to fight two krogan. Then she'd be brought up to who-knows-where, where she may have to fight others before emerging onto an unknown piece of Omega that she may or may not be able to escape.

So she followed.

In Suns base, she was the center of the mercenaries' attention from the moment her identity was revealed. Here, thankfully, the people they passed—turians, humans, batarians, asari, even a drell—barely gave her a glance. A few saluted Drineax, which seemed just odd; he wasn't one who carried the authority for a salute.

Drineax slowed his pace until she walked next to him. "You aren't the only turian biotic here, you know," he said in a low voice. "There are dozens: dissenters, runaways, ex-Cabal. . ."

_Cowards, deserters, and dishonorably discharged,_ she thought. Such a nice group of people she was lumped in with. Though, how was she any different, really?

"Nobody cares here," Drineax continued, "Archangel least of all. As long as you conduct yourself with honor and don't jeopardize the mission, you can be whatever the hell you want and not have to worry about Cabals or _hastatim_ breaking down your door. It's what the Hierarchy dreams to be."

"Sorry, but even groups like this put some emphasis on your social status." Drineax's thinly-veiled recruitment drive was getting old.

"Oh?" Drineax replied. "Do you see any primarchs or kings here? Care to point them out?"

She pointed at herself. "Are you saying I would be here if I wasn't related to Commander Shepard?"

Drineax stopped and turned to her. His mandibles fluttered a couple of times as he sought an answer. "You're not here for—"

"Yes I am. You didn't run and grab any of the other hostages and drive them here. You didn't try to get Loryias or Felicia out before your team invaded the Suns. You brought me, personally, because of who I am—or, more specifically, who my brother is: Commander Shepard's husband. And that's the only reason why your boss wants to speak to me—it's no different than when the Suns learned who I was, except they wanted to get rid of me as soon as possible, not go on a fool's errand to get Shepard's good graces!" She realized she was yelling and clamped her mouth shut. Insulting Archangel in front of all of his supporters in his own base of operations was a good way to get killed.

Drineax turned away and resumed walking. "I'm not the guy for this," he said, his voice lacking the enthusiasm it had earlier. "Once you speak to him, you'll understand. All I can really say is that you're wrong." They turned a corner and stopped at a door. "Here you are," he said, pointing. "One moment." He grabbed her arm suddenly. She pulled back, but his grip was strong—and she had no energy to fight him off again.

He attached something to her arm, and an omni-tool lit up. He typed in a few commands and let her go. "There," he said. "Now you can call your family and whomever else you want."

She looked at the glowing hologram on her arm, shocked. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. There are some restrictions on it—they won't be able to find your location, of course, and I'm going to be monitoring it, so refrain from talking too much about me or what you see here. But you can tell them you're safe." He held the door open for her, a condescending smile on his face. "At least we're different from the Suns in that respect."

She stopped before she stepped in. She could finally speak to her family again. "Thank you," she said.

* * *

**Garrus**

Aria's reaction to the state of the Blue Suns' hideout was about what Garrus had expected: violent. Sitting at the bar on Afterlife's ground floor, he could still hear her yelling to her remaining mercenary lords and shouting orders to her men for better security. The name "Vineer" kept coming up. Despite her connections, Aria definitely had never heard the news about the Suns until Garrus informed her of the state of their base.

Garrus didn't care about Aria's problems. Every thought that plagued him was about Solana. Aria had no clue where she was now, of course, and neither did anyone else. The Blue Suns' base held no clues as to the identity or whereabouts of Archangel or his team. . .assuming Archangel was the one behind Solana's disappearance in the first place. He was entirely without leads.

His call with John was short. "You'll find her," John said. "Let me know and I'll be right there with you."

"I'll be fine for now. I'd rather you stay with my parents."

"Um, yeah. Your dad and I had a bonding moment earlier. It was. . .good. Only moderately painful."

That, at least, cheered him up some. "Hey," he said before hanging up.

"Hmm?"

"I miss you. I'm sorry this mess cut our time short."

"I miss you too, Garrus. When this is over, things are gonna change. I want to see my husband."

He liked that idea. Their weeks-long separations were getting tiresome, not to mention toxic.

Zaeed took advantage of Aria's furor to reach behind the counter and grab a bottle while no-one was looking. Though he clearly wasn't as concerned for Solana as Garrus, he did pour them both a drink.

"You had to some contacts from when you were Archangel," Zaeed said. The bartender in Garrus' peripheral vision suddenly stopped moving, trying to look like he wasn't paying attention to their conversation. He didn't care anymore.

"I did, but most of them are either dead or gone after the War."

"What about that volus fellow, the one who helped us with the Collectors?"

Garrus shook his head. Ropal Kor left Omega sometime after helping Garrus upgrade the Normandy six years ago. He probably would just run if Garrus were to approach him again anyway.

His omni-tool beeped. He expected it to be John or his father, but the caller was unrecognized. He answered it.

"Garrus?" Came the voice from the other line.

His heart stopped. "Sol?"

"Oh, I am so glad to hear your voice right now." She sounded exhausted.

Garrus jumped to his feet. "Where are you? Are you okay? What happened at—"

"I'm okay, I'm okay. It's. . . it's been crazy. But I'm okay, I promise. I'm so sorry for putting you through this. Are mom and dad okay?"

"You can make it up to me." He didn't want to tell her about their father. Not yet. "Tell me where you are so I can come get you."

". . .Yeah. . .I, um, don't actually know where I am."

"Okay, describe the area to me and I can—"

"No, I mean. . .it's been _very_ crazy, Garrus. I couldn't tell you where I am even if I knew."

What the hell did _that_ mean? "What are you. . ."

"Listen," Solana said. "I'm safe. Okay? I'll be in touch with you soon. If I don't call you again within 24 hours, assume something's wrong and Archangel's at fault."

So it _was_ Archangel. "Sol, that's a lot to risk. Is there anything you can tell me? Anything at all that'll help me find you. Do you know who he is or what he looks like?"

"No." There was a silent moment on the other end. When Solana spoke again, she spoke quickly, as if rushed. "Look for someone named Drineax. He—"

There was a click, and the line went dead. "Sol?" Garrus called. "Sol!" He tried to find the number she called from, or where the omni-tool she used was located, but he couldn't come up with anything. He threw his glass across the room, shattering it.

"So she's all right," Zaeed said. "The situation resolved itself."

Garrus sat back down, then stood up again. His legs alternated between having no strength and having to move. "She was being monitored," he said. His omni-tool would have recognized hers, so she had to be wearing a different one: either one she found, or one provided to her. If Archangel was keeping her, then they wouldn't let her have her own omni-tool; if they let her have one at all, it would be one they could remotely control and listen through, so they could terminate any communication that got too sensitive.

"She said a name," Garrus said. "'Drineax.' Mean anything to you?"

Zaeed shook his head. "Don't know anyone by that name. Sounds turian. Think he could be your sycophant?"

"I don't know." It was highly unlikely that Archangel would reveal himself to Solana, unless he was profoundly stupid or playing at something bigger. But whoever was listening in on them terminated the conversation the moment the name came up, which meant that Drineax had to be at least somewhat important to Archangel's operation. It was a start, at least. His list went from no names at all to one.

"What I'd like to know," Zaeed said, "is why they'd let a girl they just met make phone calls. That's just shitty work."

He had a point. If Garrus had been a mercenary lord, like Zaeed once was, he wouldn't allow captives near an omni-tool unless it was for a ransom call. There was just too much risk involved, not even accounting for the omni-tool's capability as a weapon. Was Archangel trying to send him a message? _We have your sister, and she's safe. . .for now._

He had to find her. The sooner they could get off this hellhole, the safer she'd be.

"You think we should wait?" Zaeed said. Garrus glared at him. "What? She sounds like a big girl, and she knows what she's doing better than either of us."

Solana did say that she would be in touch, and that she was safe. But after their conversation was terminated, somebody on her end would be angry—perhaps angry enough to do something drastic. He couldn't wait.

"Come on," he said, moving toward Aria's loft, where there was still yelling and various threats being made.

"You really want to go interrupt that?" Zaeed said. "I'm all for having a death wish, but there are less painful ways to go out."

Garrus ignored him, ignored the guard (who didn't try to stop him this time), and ignored the noise as he walked into Aria's room.

The subjects of her ire were various holographic images of what Garrus assumed were her merc lords: a krogan, likely from the Blood Pack, an asari for Eclipse, and a turian, probably the Talons. Aria dismissed the images with a sharp wave when Garrus entered.

"What do you want?" Aria said. "I don't know where your sister is, and right now, I have my own problems."

"I'm holding up my end of the bargain. I think Solana is with Archangel. Finding him benefits us both."

Aria nodded, suddenly as calm as ever. "Do you have any leads?"

"One, but it's not very good."

"I'll take it." She looked at one of her bodyguards. "Bring them in." The guard nodded and walked off. She turned back to Garrus. "I've assembled a team for you."

He didn't like the sound of that. "I don't need—"

"Archangel has taken down my faction of one of the largest mercenary groups in the galaxy, twice, under my own nose. You and your grotesque friend aren't going to be enough." Three people walked in, a salarian, a krogan, and, surprisingly, a turian. "This is Caelon Aezu, Urdnot Benaka, and Lutis Bolaton. They will be aiding you in your investigation; use them as you see fit. You'll have dossiers on all three in your omni-tool."

Garrus looked the three over. Caelon seemed completely uninterested, picking at something in his armor. Lutis stared directly into his eyes, to the point of near discomfort, even though they were both turians. Benaka was a female, which was incredibly odd, considering the role and number of females in krogan society.

He did not approve. But Aria was right; he needed a team, and he didn't have the time to wait for anyone he trusted to get there.

"I also have a starting point for you," Aria said. She typed something into her omni-tool, and Garrus' beeped. "I sent you a dossier of my Talons lead, Rellius Vineer. That's twice now that his team failed—and the Talons aren't accustomed to failure. I also find it suspicious that Archangel hasn't hit them yet. Do whatever you see fit to find out if Vineer knows something."

"Could he be Archangel?"

Aria rested her head on her hand. "I've considered the possibility. The Talons are an idealistic group. They were little more than a band of vigilantes before I took over, and Vineer admired Nyreen, though he disagreed with her methods. He could fit the profile. If that's the case, then I need to take him down without alerting the rest of the Talons. That's where you come in. Find out if he's working with Archangel—or if he _is_ Archangel." She smiled at him. "I hope you haven't lost touch of your investigator skills. Dismissed."

He left the room, feeling more like a lackey than anything else. His new team followed behind, wordlessly. When they were all out of Afterlife, he turned to them.

When he was Archangel, he led his team loosely. None of them knew his real name—save for Sidonis—but they trusted eachother. They followed him because they believed in him and in what he was doing. This group only followed because they were ordered to by Aria.

"Tell me about yourselves," he said. "But make it quick. We need to get started."

Caelon spoke first. "You have our dossiers. Everything you need to know about us is in those."

"I'd rather hear from you." Shepard always took time to talk to his crew. It never made much sense to Garrus—until he saw how cohesive it made their units. He turned to Benaka. The krogan wore a similar sort of veil Bakara had worn, but hers was over a full suit of armor instead of traditional krogan dress. "I thought krogan women didn't fight."

" _This_ krogan woman does," Benaka replied. "And that's all you need to know."

Lutis rolled his eyes. "Let's see: my favorite color is green, my childhood dream was to become Primarch, I like human food on occasion, and, oh yeah, I'm not sure why I'm here helping out Commander Shepard's bitch."

Garrus felt his mandibles twitch. How would Shepard handle this?

Zaeed grinned—or grimaced, who could tell on that face—and stepped back two paces. Garrus walked up to Lutis, looked him in the eyes for a full second, then headbutt him right on the nose. Lutis cried out and fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding nose in his hands. Garrus grabbed his carapace and pulled him back up to face him.

"Let's get a few things straight," Garrus said, seething. "I'm not happy about having you assholes on my back either." He dropped Lutis and moved to Caelon. "But I'm not here on vacation. I'm on this pisshole to get my sister back. And if you think," he paced to Benaka, "if you think, after all I've been through, all the shit that I've seen and done, that I'm going to lose my sister because a few degenerate _fucks_ wouldn't cooperate—?" He stopped in front of Lutis again. For some reason, he pissed Garrus off the most. Maybe because he was a turian. "You're my team. I'm your leader. As far as I'm concerned, I own you for the duration of this mission. You'd be getter start liking the idea of being my toys. And if I ask my toys to tell me something, whether it's their background or what they had for breakfast, I expect them to provide an answer I find acceptable. Understand?!"

They all nodded, eyes wide. Blood dripped out of Lutis' nose as Garrus leaned in close. He lowered his voice. "And the most important thing for you to remember: Commander Shepard is _my_ bitch."

He stepped back and waited. _A little more Wrex than Shepard,_ he thought, but it got the job done.

Again, Caelon went first. "I-I was born on Sur'Kesh. I have technical expertise and some l-limited training with firearms. I worked with Eclipse for two years before coming to Omega."

Benaka bowed her head slightly before beginning. Hopefully, that was a sign of respect. "I broke from my clan before the War started. Finding inspiration in Aria, I moved to Omega to carve out my own life. I am a biotic, and a damn good vanguard. Despite my distinct fault of being female."

He looked at Lutis. To his credit, the man stood straight and still, even as a thin rivulet of blood seeped over his mouth and chin. "Ex- _hastatim._ Specialized in covert ops. Was honorably discharged in 2188 for. . .a disability incurred during the War."

"You don't look disabled to me."

"It wasn't a physical disability. Sir."

Garrus nodded, then addressed the whole group. "See? Not too hard. This hideous monster here is Zaeed Massani. You might have read about him in one of the many Normandy biographies out there. Or in the human story, _Frankenstein._ "

"One to talk," Zaeed said. The man seemed impressed with how Garrus handled the situation. Garrus couldn't decide if that was good or bad.

"What _did_ happen to your face?" Lutis asked.

"Ever kiss a krogan, Bolaton? I don't recommend it."

Benaka snorted at that. Now that he had them reigned in, a little humor to kill the tension was good.

"So, sir," Caelon said. "What's our first move?"

"We go speak with Vineer. Unless one of you has a suggestion?"

They all shook their heads. Garrus turned to the direction of their car. They would need a bigger vehicle for Benaka alone. He still wasn't sure about the group, but it felt nice to be the leader again.

This time, his team would be taken care of.

* * *

**Solana**

"One rule!" Drineax burst into the bathroom when she mentioned him to Garrus, snarling. "I gave you _one rule_ : keep your mouth shut about details!"

He grabbed her neck and pressed her against the wall. He leaned in close enough that she could smell his breath. "This is a good thinggoing here. Do you understand me? I will _not_ let you jeopardize this. Not for anything. Do you understand me?!"

His grip wasn't tight, but it was strong. She couldn't break free. She knew she was taking a risk by telling Garrus about Drineax, but she never expected this. For the first time, she was witnessing Drineax freak out; his breaths came out in deep pants, his mandibles twitching furiously. They stood that way for a few tense moments. Drineax took a few deep breaths, his eyes closed, then he set her down.

"I'm taking the omni-tool back," he said. His voice sounded worn out, even shaky. "Sorry, but I gave you a chance."

"Wait," she said, holding out her hand. "Please. I haven't spoken to my father. . ."

"Garrus will tell your father you're safe, I'm sure." He disabled the omni-tool. Just like that, her connection to the outside world was lost once again. "I don't know what I have to do to gain your trust, Solana. What _we_ have to do. But you can't be allowed to put our operation in danger. Not for anything. Now come with me."

They exited the bathroom, to a few stares from pedestrians. Drineax kept pace ahead of her. She realized that he was probably the closest thing to an ally she had ever since the whole mess began; even though he was the one who kidnapped her in the first place, he was also the one who kept her safe at the Blue Suns' hideout. Did she owe him anything for it, though? Why did he believe so strongly in Archangel? For once, he kept quiet as he led her through what felt like miles.

They passed food vendors and small stands, like she would expect to find in a small town. Armed guards of every known race patrolled the areas, and she saw security cameras high up on the walls. They passed a makeshift clinic where people sat and waited to be seen by a doctor. Despite all the people she saw, however, one thing remained conspicuously absent: children. Even on Omega's surface, children could be occasionally seen running around or rummaging through garbage. Down here, though, there wasn't a single child to be found.

"Why are there no children here?" She asked Drineax.

He shrugged his shoulders, but didn't stop or turn around. "Too dangerous here. If we get found out. . .we have a few shelters for children on the surface. Not blatantly ours, you understand, but under our protection should the need arise. The plan is to one day establish some schools and playgrounds so kids are learning up there instead of killing eachother for red sand."

They came to a small building—at least, it looked like a building in this place—armed to the teeth. There were four guards at the entrance, which also had two security cameras—that she could see. The guards performed a full-body scan on both of them before they went in, even taking away Drineax's knife. _You'd think he was the Primarch with all this security._ As they crossed the entrance, an alarm went off right above Solana's head.

Drineax raised his hands as guards raised their guns. "Right, she's a biotic. Forgot to tell you; just found out myself, really. My bad, guys."

The guards looked at eachother. "You'll vouch for her?" One of them said.

"Of course." He gave her a wry look over his shoulder. "She's as trustworthy as I am."

The guards lowered their guns and let them through. The building felt like an official government site, complete with shelves and stacks of innumerable folders behind desks. Except a government building might have less security. There were cameras on every corner, guards on every stairwell, alarm buttons on every wall. The stacks of paper, and the people who filed through them, were behind a layer of what Solana assumed was bulletproof glass. Each guard was fully armored, some of them in tech armor that shone bright orange across their bodies, the air shimmering around a few who were using biotic barriers. Most of the guards were turian, but the workers and volunteers they passed mixed all sorts of races.

She had never really thought of Omega as a melting pot before, but as she thought about it, it made sense; Omega was run by an asari, but the station was a safe-haven for criminals and delinquents of all types. Whether these followers of Archangel were any different was yet to be seen, though none of them howled at or threatened her like the Blue Suns had. That was certainly an improvement.

They boarded yet another elevator, just the two of them this time. As the doors closed, the guard opened his omni-tool and spoke: "Gabriel's coming up, one passenger."

The doors closed, and the elevator took them up. "Gabriel?" She said to him.

"My codename here. One of the few named archangels in human mythology, so I'm told. . .though I don't read a lot of human books. Odds are, Gabriel was a prankster or an idiot or something and everyone's having a big laugh behind my back."

"Does Archangel actually buy into human religion?"

"Dunno. I don't think so, but. . .he's not the original Archangel. Everyone knows it, and he never claims otherwise. The original died, or. . .well. I sort of have a theory." He grinned, but didn't elaborate. "Anyway, he probably just did a little research into the name and ran with the mythos. Gives more credence to the idea of him commanding the power of a deity. Or he might really believe it."

The elevator doors opened with a pleasant _ding!_ and, upon inspection by yet another guard, they entered what appeared to be a large, furnished living area. There were several sofas spread across the space, with a large window looking out over the underground "city." Despite the location, the view was beautiful, the rust-colored interior of Omega abuzz with its own type of life. The room bled into a kitchen with two large refrigerators, an island table, and a massive stove. The living area branched out into several halls and more rooms, some with closed doors. There were fewer people here than in the ground floor of the building, and most of them appeared to be relaxing, reading datapads or, in the case of two humans, playing a game with a little ball and two paddles being bounced across a green table. Like everywhere else, there were salarians, humans, batarians, asari. . .and turians. Was Archangel among them?

"This is where the magic happens," Drineax said. "Hey, everyone, this is Solana Vakarian! Make her feel as awkward as possible before I come back."

She stiffened as every single head in the room suddenly turned toward her. A few people even waved. It was like the first day of high school all over again, except with potentially dangerous mercenaries instead of genuinely dangerous teenagers. Drineax slinked off down one of the halls, leaving her standing there.

One of the turians, a barefaced with a snowy complexion, got off his seat on one of the sofas and shook her hand. "'Vakarian,' huh?" He said. "Any relation?"

For once, she was happy to talk about Garrus' fame. "Sister," she said.

"Didn't know he had a sister. Preitor Gavorn. I met your brother a couple of times, a while back." He gestured for her to sit, which she gladly did. Her feet thanked her immediately.

"When did you meet Garrus?"

"He and Shepard helped me out with a pest problem I had before the War."

"'Pest problem'?" Garrus told her that they did a few things that felt trivial at the time, but he never mentioned anything like that. "That sounds. . .well, kind of frivolous."

Gavorn chuckled. "The 'pests' here were vorcha. Surprisingly organized ones, at that. Still not sure what that was all about; all I know is that the tunnels and lower apartments were flooded with the bastards before Garrus and Shepard went in, and nearly empty when they came back out with that doctor. Aria thought I did it myself; easiest paycheck I ever made."

Solana's mandibles widened in surprise. "You worked for Aria? But. . ." She looked around the room for emphasis.

Gavorn waved it off. "Long time ago. All I did was guard the entrance to Afterlife." He smiled. "Not much chance of a turian doing that these days. So, what brings you here? Certainly not Drineax's charm, or his mouth."

"Uhm. . ." She tried to think of a way to not make the next sentence sound ridiculous. She failed. "I kinda got randomly kidnapped by the Blue Suns and now I'm here by accident." At least, that's why she was on Omega; she was on that couch because Archangel wanted Shepard. She was sure of it. She just hoped Archangel was the type to handle disappointment well.

Gavorn shrugged. "It's not the craziest story I've heard. At least you didn't get drunk and wake up in Arcadia as a conscript. One of the guards here can't say the same."

"'Arcadia'?"

"Drin didn't tell you? That's this place. Well," he waved toward the large window. "That place. This whole area was, ahem, _unofficially_ renamed Arcadia. There's a planet, too, but it's uninhabitable."

She took a moment to glance around the room again. The other occupants no longer seemed to pay her any mind. A hanar in a large, ridiculous white hat danced with a knife in the kitchen, presumably a cook.

Drineax emerged from the hallway and energetically beckoned her.

"Looks like our cue," Gavorn said. "Don't worry. You can't piss Archangel off, unless you really, really try." He stood up with her.

"You're coming too?" She asked.

"Well, I _am_ one of Archangel's lieutenants." He winked and moved ahead, past Drineax into the hall, leaving her to wonder what that meant.

"I see you met Gavorn," Drineax said.

"He said he was a lieutenant? What does that mean?"

"You'll see. Just know that he's an important guy to impress. Like me! And judging by what I just saw, I'd say you're two for two. Now come on, the big guy's waiting."

She followed him down the hall, wondering just who was waiting for her at the end.

* * *

**John**

Even before the citadel's destruction, the Destiny Ascension was impressive. The flagship of the Citadel Fleet, the asari masterwork was the largest warship ever assembled by any known species and supposedly held more power than the entire asari fleet combined. After the Citadel was destroyed, the ship was upgraded in an unprecedented interspecies collaboration; no longer just a warship, the Ascension was now home to the Council, as well as over a million citizens and crew who lost everything during the Reaper War. Docking onto the Ascension was like landing on a small moon.

When John stepped out of his shuttle and onto the metal floor of the Ascension, he was greeted by a young human man with regulation-length dirty blond hair in Alliance uniform. Clearly nervous and unprepared, the man saluted John long before he reached him.

"Sir! Yeoman Logan Winters at your service, sir!"

John remembered when he was new to the fleet, too. "At ease, soldier. I'm not part of the Alliance anymore."

"Doesn't mean you're not worthy of salute, sir. I'm, um, supposed to attend to your needs here on the Ascension—that is, your schedule and, uh, things. Sir."

"Let me guess: they called you out of nowhere and made you the guy for the job, right?"

"Um, that's pretty much it, sir. Not that it's not an honor! It's just an unexpected one."

"Well, then: ready for your first order, Winters?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Stop calling me 'sir,' relax, and walk with me."

"Yes, s—um, okay."

As they walked the Ascension, passing dozens of small shops and booths, John learned a little more about Winters and the Council.

"I just turned twenty when the War started," Winters said, his nervous constitution fading as he looked at something far away. "I was going to school in Quebec when the Reapers landed. My family was in Juárez, much farther away from Vancouver than I, but I got offworld and they didn't. I was never interested in the military, to be honest. I'm not very strong. I think I would have been kicked out if they didn't desperately need people in the fleet, both during and after. When it was over, I had nowhere to go, so I kind of just stayed where I was."

John knew the feeling of desperately trying to find a new purpose in a world suddenly without his family. "What did you study?"

Winters shrugged. "A little of everything. Psychology was my major, but I took classes in chemistry, biology, philosophy, computer science, physics, political science, interplanetary relations, xenosocial studies, etcetera. My career aspirations floated from therapist to dentist to writer, looking for whatever seemed to fit. I'm a jack of all trades, master of none. But I'll do my best as your yeoman, sir. When the Reapers dropped dead, people were screaming out your name all over the world—probably most worlds. It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen."

"You need to have more confidence, Winters. Trust your decisions—even the bad ones, because there'll be plenty of those. And trust the people you work with."

"The problem with trusting bad decisions is that you never know they're good or bad until it's too late. Especially with the hard ones."

He had had to make plenty of hard decisions himself. "The hardest decision I ever made was on Virmire," he said. "We tracked down Saren's krogan cloning facility, but we were overrun by rebel geth. I was separated from two of my officers: Ashley Williams, and Kaidan Alenko. I could either run back and save Kaidan, or cover Ashley. I couldn't do both. I literally had to choose which of my two friends had to live or die."

"Why did you pick Spectre Williams?"

"Because I had to make a choice. It had nothing to do with her skill—both of them were highly skilled soldiers with their own advantages. It had nothing to do with personal preference—they both had traits that I liked and traits that I found annoying. Sometimes, the hardest decisions in the universe come down to a decision of whether or not to make a decision. If I tried to save them both, we all would have died. If anything factored into my decision, it was that Ashley was a few steps closer."

They had been walking for twenty minutes, and still the ship stretched on before them, no end in sight. The gleaming silver walls that echoed asari architecture stretched upward into a transparent ceiling full of stars. The Ascension didn't have artificial sunlight like the Citadel, but the luminescent lights that filtered in from space gave the ship a peaceful glow that, in centuries past, would have been described as "unearthly." The ship was supposedly eight square kilometers—a long distance to walk. John had never actually seen the entirety of the ship, something he resolved to do with Garrus someday; he never got to see the entirety of the Citadel, either.

Winters led him to an elevator, where two guards saluted John as they entered. They took the elevator to the ship's command deck, a massive space that dwarfed the Normandy's several times over. A massive holographic map of the galaxy hovered in the center, with several asari navigators inspecting various quadrants of the Milky Way.

"What are they doing?" He asked.

"Not sure," Winters said. "Probably looking updating the map to reflect new sections of Council Space, or maybe they're trying to map out the new Relay patterns."

"How much has Council Space extended?"

"Most of the Terminus Systems are now part of Council Space, as is most of the Attican Traverse. Earth Alliance Space has ceded the Petra and Viper Nebulae, but otherwise maintains control of the Local Cluster in the Arcturus Stream—though I don't know if that will stay. They're talking about officially making the Local Cluster a headquarters of Council Space, like the Serpent Nebula was. The past five years have seen the greatest expansion of Council reach in its history."

"Hopefully that will be a good thing."

"After seeing how all the species worked together against the Reapers, I'm betting it will, sir. Well. . .almost all the species. You're here to meet that raloi guy, right?"

"That's on the agenda. What do you think about it?"

Winters seemed surprised that someone like Commander Shepard would ask for his opinion on anything, let alone one of his own assignments. "I don't really know much about—"

"Based on what you do know, then. I know you have an opinion."

"Well. . .I don't like how they ran when the Reapers showed up. I mean, I can't blame them, and I guess they didn't really have the tech to fight them, but they could have learned how to use our tech or opened their world up for refugees or something, right? It just feels like they're the guy who hid at the sight of trouble and now that it's over they're showing up at the victory table."

John nodded. That seemed to be the prevailing opinion of the raloi. Changing it among the galactic population would be no small matter.

"But," Winters went on, "I don't like to judge a whole species, you know? There must be several billion of them; I'm sure a few of them would have come up here and fought with us, if they could. It's not like all the species that fought were a bunch of saints, either." He leaned in slightly and whispered, "Just look at the asari. Hiding prothean tech from the rest of the galaxy even when the Reapers came? They're still trying to get Tevos on that. The turians hid a bomb on Tuchanka for who knows how long, the salarians withheld aid over a grudge, and our own Councilor tried to sell the Citadel to Cerberus. Are any of us really in a position to judge them?"

"You're a lot smarter than you think, Winters." John had never considered it before, but maybe this was the reason why they wanted him to meet the raloi ambassador. They could defer to him, with the responsibility and the hypocrisy lifted from their own shoulders. _It's like I'm a species all on my own._ His judgment wouldn't reflect the judgment of humanity; it would reflect the judgment of Commander Shepard, which carried at least as much weight. And any negative backlash could be pinned entirely on him.

"Hey, Winters?"

"Yes, sir?" The man was still glowing from the compliment.

"Let's make a quick detour. Do you know where the Council chamber is?"

Winters grinned. "Yes, sir, I do. Right this way."

It was high time he got back into politics.


	11. Fateful Meetings

**Garrus**

**Sur'Kesh Gan Jaeto Nnst Quial Caelon Aezu**

Eclipse operative, 2189-present

Self-described "tech wizard"

Caelon Aezu has a gift for tech, preferring to fight remotely with an omni-tool and some drones. Nimble, intelligent, but timid, he has simultaneously impressed and disgusted Eclipse higher-ups on multiple occasions. Assigned to Omega on request of Aria T'Loak.

**Lutis Beloran**

Former _hastatim_ operative, 2178-2188

Covert agent specializing in infiltration and assassination

Most of Lutis Beloran's record of service is classified. Honorably discharged in 2188; reason for discharge is classified. Specialized infiltration gear allows him to use mass effect fields to appear temporarily invisible, making him an excellent stealth agent. Hired as an independent contractor by Aria T'Loak in 2189.

**Urdnot Benaka**

Previous occupation unknown

Biotic vanguard

Urdnot Benaka joined the Blood Pack in 2180, when her name was still Hentor Benaka. Despite her skill as a biotic, she has served a relatively minor position due to traditional krogan gender roles. Potential consideration for future leader of the group. Recruited by Aria T'Loak in 2186 with the rest of the Blood Pack.

Garrus read the dossiers for his new team with increasing apprehension. All three had skill, but they also had vague backgrounds that could suggest lingering problems. He especially wanted to know what "disability" Lutis had that got him discharged after the worst war in history. Attempts to find out proved fruitless.

"It's nothing I haven't been able to handle working for Aria for the past three years," Lutis said. "And I'm clearly not debilitated, now am I? It's not relevant to the job."

"I decide what is and isn't relevant on my job."

"Not this, you don't. I won't be devastated if you kick me out of your team, so go ahead and fire me if it's that important."

_Spirits, this man will be trouble._ He put the matter to rest, at least for the moment, but resolved to find out more about Lutis' past before it came back to haunt all of them. The fact that Lutis wouldn't simply admit his secret—even murderers would admit their crime, if confronted—frustrated and confused him.

Benaka and Caelon, on the other hand, had warmed up to him a lot better since their initial encounter. Benaka frequently chatted with Zaeed about Blood Pack tactics while Zaeed drove, and Caelon had his head buried in his omni-tool much of the ride, apparently playing some sort of videogame. They, too, were reluctant to talk about their pasts—but neither of them had any disabilities on record. True, the man didn't appear to be disabled in any functional sense; his cognitive faculties seemed intact (intact enough to argue, anyway) and his limbs worked just fine. The only outward sign of any anomaly was Lutis' propensity for long, complete silences where he would stare at absolutely nothing, not even blinking, apparently unaware that he was doing so—and this trait hardly qualified as a "disability" in itself.

"Tell me, Lutis," Garrus said. "Why is a turian working for Aria right now? Especially with her current anti-turian paranoia."

"Do I have to join Archangel just because we happen to have the same body parts?"

"No, but it seems you have more incentive to join him than Aria."

"Archangel is a fraud. The old one just wanted to piss off the mercenaries; he never got in Aria's face, and he sure as shit never put on a show about revolution or whatever nonsense this one's up to. Look outside," he said, nodding toward the window. Garrus looked out and down, onto the streets below. "Do you see chaos and death everywhere you look? Archangel would have you believe you do, and if he has his way, he'll be right. No, Omega's not a paradise, but it's a functioning society that has actually gotten a lot better in recent years. Aria's reigned in the mercenary groups; there's much less extortion going on than before, and best of all, since they're all united under Aria's flag, there's no more gang wars. The Talons provide the closest thing Omega's ever had to a legitimate police force."

"So you like it here?"

"I like what this place represents. Two types of people live here, Vakarian: criminals who want to succeed at crime with the fewest victims possible, and criminals who want to start their lives over. Both are more interested in the outside world than here. Archangel's scam operation is just a plot to put himself in a position of some power; if he wins, odds are he'll incorporate Omega into Council Space and petition to become an ambassador or something. I saw it all the time in the _hastatim:_ some dictator would rise up and promise a crowd of deluded followers that he'd make everything better, when in reality all he wanted was a leg up in the Hierarchy that he couldn't get on his own merit _._ A real leader doesn't look at the home of his followers and think, 'wow, what a shithole.'"

"This place _is_ a shithole," Benaka interrupted, her deep voice reverberating through the whole car. "But it serves a purpose. With the krogan now an official Council species, the cultural norms on Tuchanka have been granted more validity. As a female, I would technically be considered a fugitive; while meaningless, in my circumstance, there would be nothing to stop a naive C-sec officer from arresting and extraditing me back to my world."

"Why do you hate Tuchanka so much?"

"I don't. But haven't you been there?"

"I have, but the krogan I know don't seem to mind the terrain. Or the thresher maws."

"Let me just say that my circumstances are both unique and highly restrictive. I would rather not talk about the rest."

"And you, Caelon? Anything vague and mysterious about your past that you don't want to share with me?"

"Hm?" Caelon finally looked up from his game. "Nothing interesting about me. Got my Ph.D at nineteen—took a year off from school to travel, that's why I was late—got bored, joined Eclipse, here I am. That's about it. I'm here because Aria told me to be here, and you don't argue with Aria."

As he talked to them, he kept his eye on the readings on his visor. All three exhibited heightened pulses, faster breathing, more fidgeting, less eye contact—all signs of lies. Did Aria not vet her own men, or did she just not care if they kept secrets from her? Or did she know, and just not tell him? Whatever the case, he was annoyed. John knew everything about his crew—their pasts, their fears, their dreams, their secrets. He himself had been rather forthcoming about the details of his own life during his service, even before their relationship. How did John have that effect on people?

They arrived at the Talons' headquarters, a vastly different venue from their previous locale, based on what John had told him. Instead of the underground network of trashy tunnels and secret hideaways in the sewers, the Talons now had their own building, a spire of the asteroid carved out that connected at least two of Omega's levels. A building like that would be damn hard to assail; perhaps that was why Archangel hadn't attacked them yet? But his former base was strategically difficult to attack as well, and Archangel wiped out the Blue Suns there with apparently little difficulty.

"So what's the plan?" Caelon asked. "We just go in and, what, ask Vineer how's his day going, did you see that weather report, oh, by the way, are you Archangel?"

"I'm going to go in and talk to Vineer myself. The four of you are going to remain close behind and try to gather any information you can find—without causing an incident."

"Wow," Lutis said sarcastically, "it's almost as if you didn't need us at all."

"You have experience with this sort of mission. How well does your invisibility cloak work?"

"As long as they aren't looking directly at me, they can never tell I'm there. If they are looking directly at me, they might see a blur as I move—usually they dismiss it as something else. These guys probably wouldn't. I can't have shields up while invisible, so I'm completely vulnerable—and if I get shot while the cloak is on, it'll overload the system and I'll explode. The cloak also has a time limit of about twenty minutes—if it overheats, it'll take days before I could use it again, if I don't explode from that too."

"Wait," Caelon asked, "your cloak uses mass effect fields, right? So when you say you'd explode. . ."

"I mean everything around me would probably explode too. This whole building would easily be dust."

"That seems counterproductive," Garrus said. "If your own weapons risked killing your men, why use them?"

"The _hastatim_ specifically designed it that way. If I was caught, I was no longer useful—at least I'd take down my killers when I'd die. It also allows the government to deny any involvement in any of my missions and pin it on a suicide bomber or something. As you can see, I've never been caught."

"Good. Maintain that record. Caelon?"

The salarian's head twitched in his direction. "Yes?"

"Can you do anything about security?"

Caelon held up a finger and opened up his omni-tool. The game he played earlier beeped as he turned it off and opened something else.

"Let's see. . .standard Omega First tech. . . woefully outdated. . .these two lines look the same. . .and. . .done!"

"What do you mean, 'done'?"

"I'm in. Or, I can get in when you give the word. Camera feeds, weapon systems, blueprints, most documents and files. Not sure how long I can snoop before they notice, though." He blinked a couple of times. "That. . . _is_ what you wanted me to do, right? 'Cuz I can undo it no problem. . ."

Garrus shook his head, hoping he didn't appear too impressed. "That's exactly what I wanted. Good job. Can you monitor from the car?"

"My favorite place to be on a mission, sir."

"Benaka, you'll remain with Caelon in case there are any problems. Retreat if you need to, but remain in the vicinity for pickup."

Benaka nodded without objection. Taking a krogan into a primarily turian security force's headquarters would be more antagonism than necessary, so that was good.

"Zaeed and I will go in together. We'll all remain in contact via radio comm. Any questions?"

The team shook their heads. Satisfied with his plan, Caelon and Benaka returned to the car while Lutis activated his stealth cloak. The man vanished before Garrus' eyes, the only sign of him being a slight blur that could easily be misconstrued as a trick of the light to someone who didn't know what they were looking for. When the blur was out of sight, Garrus couldn't find it again—the complete lack of any sound of Lutis' footsteps as he walked away was particularly disconcerting.

"I need someone to open the door," Lutis said through the comm.

Garrus and Zaeed approached the building, opening the sliding doors. Several turian guards met them inside, along with a security field similar to the one once found on the entrance to the Citadel Wards, albeit smaller.

"Business?" One of the guards said. All of the turians had the unique Talons insignia branded on their faces: a dark red streak split down the center of a white background. Even non-turian members of the Talons used similar facial markings.

"Rellius Vineer's expecting us," Garrus replied. "Garrus Vakarian. This is Zaeed Massani."

He hoped Lutis could get through the security field safely. Kasumi Goto could bypass the Citadel's security, but her skill in stealth was unlike anything he had ever seen before, even among turians. _No alarms have gone off yet, at least._ That was always a good sign.

"Remove your weapons," the guard grunted. "And step in the field. Don't move while we process you."

They complied. When the security field ran over them and confirmed their genetic signatures, their weapons were surprisingly returned to them.

"I don't think I've ever been allowed to bring a gun into a security fortress before," Garrus said.

The guard's mandibles parted in a grin. "Look around. We all have guns here. I think you know better than to start any shit, right?" Clearly the man wasn't up to speed on Garrus' particular reputation. "Vineer's office is on the fortieth floor," he nodded toward a nearby elevator.

They entered the elevator and began the long climb up.

"Good work on those new kids," Zaeed said. "For a second there, I thought I'd have to take charge."

Garrus sighed. "They're all still hiding something, though. And they followed my orders here well enough—but I doubt they'd follow me into hell like we did John. What did he have that I don't?"

"A sense of fucking patience, for one. Look, remember that thing Shepard did about pestering everyone between missions? You, me, he'd go into every fucking room and ask us all how our day was going and whether we wanted a shoulder to cry on."

"And, by and large, we all opened up to him."

"Yes, _eventually._ Some of us had some life crisis come up, like Miranda, and some of us just got sick of telling him to piss off, like me, but at some point, something clicked and we opened up like an asari consort's legs. My point is: you met these bastards five minutes ago and you're wondering why they don't tell you how daddy beat them when they were kids. You don't trust them with your life yet? Same goes for them."

The floor light hit 30. "What do you think of them?"

"Benaka's a goddamn pleasure; keep her around. Aezu's annoying, but he stays out of my business well enough. Beloran. . .seen some shit, that one. Puts a whole new meaning to 'thousand-yard stare.'"

"Do you trust him?"

"Inasmuch as I trust anyone. Just make sure his hinge is well-tight."

"It's tight enough, thanks," came a voice from nowhere. Both Garrus and Zaeed reached for their weapons. Lutis' chuckle stayed their hands.

"I've still got it," Lutis said, from somewhere near the elevator door, which finally opened onto their floor. Garrus waved a hand in front of him, but only touched air. They never heard him enter, or exit, the elevator.

"Shit," Zaeed said, sounding more impressed than anything.

They entered a large office about the size of the C-Sec Executor's. A turian, presumably Vineer, stood from his terminal and walked over to meet them. Vineer had a slight limp, favoring his left leg. His face markings were the same as the other Talons', though slightly more faded and cracked—he'd had them for a long time.

"Vakarian," Vineer said, his dark green eyes alight with the same layer of false civility Garrus frequently saw on Councilor Sparatus. He turned to Zaeed. "And Zaeed Massani. Not every day you get to meet two Normandy heroes at once."

_Oh, boy._ Garrus hated dealing with these kinds of people. "I just have some questions about—"

"Aria told me," Vineer interrupted, gesturing for them to take a seat at his desk. "And it wouldn't be too difficult to guess, I suppose. Anyway, I'll tell you what I told her: I don't know Archangel's current whereabouts."

Garrus' visor registered a slight uptick in Vineer's stats, but he hadn't known Vineer long enough to establish a normal. He could be telling the truth, or he could be an excellent liar. They needed to stir something from him to see what a high reading could be.

"Don't you think it's strange," Garrus said, "that the Talons are Aria's only mercenary group not to be targeted by Archangel so far?"

Vineer's back stiffened slightly, revealing the iron pole that must have been driven up his ass. "Not at all. You yourself have seen our security force; just because we're more organized and more competent than the other three groups doesn't suddenly make us allies with Archangel. In fact, I'd say it makes us his greatest threat."

"Three of the most powerful mercenary groups in the galaxy, along with their leaders, all eradicated at the same time, followed by a _second_ eradication of the Blue Suns, and he hasn't even made an attempt at the Talons yet?"

"Look," Vineer said, leaning forward. "I am telling you, and I am telling Aria: our investigation into Archangel is—"

It was Garrus' turn to interrupt. "And I am telling _you:_ I was an investigator at C-Sec long before the Talons were even a blip on the radar, and _my_ investigation points directly at the Talons as either helping or outright facilitating Archangel's operation. You can comply with my investigation, or you can sit there and be coy until I go back to Aria and help her conclude that the Talons are no more necessary now than they were before 2186."

Vineer shot up from his chair. "You come into my office—!" He cut himself off and took a deep breath, looking away for a long moment. "I've been here a long time, Vakarian. I saw the Talons go from a soulless mercenary group under Derius to a force of good under Nyreen. _Real good,_ Vakarian; we were going to finally clean up Omega and make this station a respectable place in the galaxy. When Nyreen died, I thought that dream died too. . .then Aria contacted us and made us Omega's official security force. Violence went down, the drug trade was under control, and the place was more at peace than ever before; then Archangel comes along and fucks all of it up, and now I'm being accused of working with him! I would do _anything_ to put Archangel down."

_Here it is._ Vineer's stats all went up, but Garrus didn't need a visor to know that. A couple of calibrations and he could read Vineer like a book. He adopted a more civil tone. "Then answer a few questions. One cop to another."

Vineer sighed, resigning to his fate, then he sat back down.

"Okay," Garrus began. He kept an eye on his visor. "Do you know Archangel's identity?"

The question took Vineer back. "Of course not. He'd be dead now if I did."

Garrus nodded. The visor registered a slight uptick in Vineer's pulse, but not enough to conclude a lie.

"All right. Do you have any leads or suspects?"

"No. Not everyone has liked Aria—particularly in the Talons, I'll admit—but there's never been anyone brave or stupid enough to outright denounce her in public."

"Could someone within the Talons be him or working with him?"

A slight pause. The visor registered more activity. "No," Vineer said. His face showed no sign of discomfort, but his vital signs all portrayed a different story. He was lying.

"Vakarian," Lutis' voice came through the comm in his ear, almost a whisper. "Under the desk in the right back corner. There's bloodstains here, blue."

The desk in question was unassuming, bare, but large. Much larger than Vineer's own, in fact. Why was the leader of the Talons using a tiny desk?

"Do you have any more questions, Mister Vakarian?" Vineer maintained eye contact the entire time, his voice cool, without urgency. He was a good liar.

"Yes, actually. I noticed your limp. Accident?"

Vineer blinked. His pulse skyrocketed and his breathing stopped for a full second. "I'm not sure what that has to do with—"

"Humor me."

"Yes," Vineer said with a hint of growl. "It was an accident."

"Bad one?"

"Not particularly."

Garrus leaned forward. "Bad enough to cause that nasty stain under your desk?"

The illusion shattered. Vineer's eyes went wide. The visor's readings were off the charts. "What are you—"

"You're lying to me, Vineer. I don't like liars." He nodded to Zaeed, who pulled out his pistol in as menacing a fashion as he could while sitting down.

Vineer stood up again. "What is this? I'm not lying at all. I—"

Lutis suddenly materialized right behind Vineer. "There's blood under your desk." Vineer jumped and swung, but Lutis caught his wrist with no effort whatsoever. He spun Vineer's arm around his back and pinned him to the desk. "Check his leg," Lutis said.

Garrus got up and carefully pulled up Vineer's right pants leg. "Who are you people?" Vineer said, shaking. Lutis kept him from moving while he protested.

Halfway up, Garrus found the reason for Vineer's limp. Small, barely-healed wounds dotted along his shin, as if something was inserted there. Something painful. Vineer's leg jolted away from Garrus when he tried to touch it.

"This is recent," Garrus said. "Tell me who did this."

Lutis eased up on Vinner, but didn't let him go. "I. . ."

"Got people coming your way, guys," Caelon said through the comm. "They're armed. And they look mad."

Lutis pushed back down on Vineer. "Who did you call?!" He barked.

"Stand down," Garrus commanded. Lutis shut his mouth. "Who do you have coming, Vineer?"

"What?" Vineer said. "I didn't call anybody!" His eyes widened in terror. "Oh, spirits. He said they'd come if I talked. I-I didn't say anything!"

He was telling the truth. Garrus didn't need the visor to know that.

Lutis pulled Vineer to the ground and dragged him to the back of the office. He pushed him under the large desk. "Stay there," he said before going invisible again. Garrus and Zaeed knocked over desks and chairs and prepared their guns.

"Do you need me up there?" Benaka asked.

"How many men, Caelon?"

"Three. All turian. I think they're Talons—they have that scary facepaint, anyway."

Three men wouldn't be too difficult to handle. "Maintain your position, Benaka; there may be more outside. You positioned, Lutis?"

"Yep," came his voice from somewhere in the room.

All prepped and ready, they waited.

"Just like old times," Zaeed said. "Well, without the impossible odds stacked against us."

"Leave at least one alive," Garrus said.

The elevator doors opened across the hall. The three turians stepped out, their guns at the read.

"Sir," one of them called out. "Are you in here? We heard you were in trouble."

Zaeed tossed a grenade over their cover.

"What—shit!" One of them cried a second before the explosion. Shrapnel hit the desk as the entire office lit up in a sudden firefight. The grenade didn't kill any of them, but it knocked them off their feet long enough for Garrus to get a good shot at one, breaking what remained of his shield. He noticed a bullet appear seemingly out of thin air and strike his target in the head, killing him—apparently even Lutis' weapons were invisible.

The other two scrambled for cover, firing over their shoulders, but Garrus' team didn't leave them much to use. Zaeed pulled out a shotgun and stepped out of cover long enough to unleash two blasts of heat, missing the targets, but distracting them long enough for Lutis to break the shield of another man. Garrus quickly shot him in between the eyes. As soon as his body hit the ground, the last remaining man suddenly fell to his knees, his head jerked upward. Lutis materialized behind him, holding an omni-blade across his throat. The merc slowly dropped his gun and raised his arms in surrender.

Garrus stepped over the two bodies and pinned the man to the ground, grabbing his arms and wresting them behind his back. He used his omni-tool to install a handcuff on the turian's wrists, then he rolled him over to look him in the eyes.

"Start talking!" He pressed his pistol against the turian's temple.

Vineer, who left his cover, inspected the dead turians' faces. Their Talons markings wiped off on his hands.

"Anyone you know?" Lutis asked.

"Informants, m-most likely." Vineer's voice shook as he spoke. "T-they've probably b-been here for—for—" He held his head down.

Garrus returned to his captive. The bastard grinned, but still didn't say anything. Vineer stepped up behind Garrus. The captive looked at him over his shoulder.

"You were warned," he said to Vineer. "Archangel will kill every single one of you bastards now. Just watch. Then we'll have _real_ peace."

Something moved in his mouth from under the tongue. "No!" Garrus jammed his fingers under the turian's mandibles and tried to reach the pill, but it was too late. Foam bubbled up from the turian's throat as he convulsed, then died. Garrus punched his face, red paint wiping off on his knuckles, then he stood and grabbed Vineer by the shoulders.

"Explain," he said as calmly as he could.

Vineer's eyes darted about. "I didn't know. . ."

"EXPLAIN!"

Vineer raised his hands. "They c-came here right before the first attacks. Just two guys, turians. They came into my office s-saying they want a meeting, then. . .then they tied me up and. . .One of them said to keep quiet and out of Archangel's way, that they'd leave the Talons alone if they lived up to their 'true purpose.' The other one. . .oh, spirits. . ."

"What about him?"

"He didn't speak. He didn't say a word to me or the other guy. He just took out some electric nodes and. . .you saw my leg. It was the worst pain I've ever felt in my life, and the other one, the one who talked, said they could do worse. He said they'd be watching me. . .I had no idea they'd put spies into my ranks. How long have they. . .?"

Garrus dropped him, his frustration growing. Aria was both right and wrong; Vineer was connected to Archangel, but not as a willing accomplice. Helpful information for Aria, but useless for his investigation.

Lutis stepped up to him. "I've checked the bodies," he said, his voice cold, almost businesslike. "No identification. They have omni-tools, but they're probably encrypted—Caelon might get something out of them. Might not." He looked at the turian who took the suicide pill. "I knew this would happen. Only fanatics kill themselves in the name of their 'cause.' Archangel's not starting a rebellion; he's starting a cult."

He needed something, a real lead. All he had was. . .

"Do you have a database?" He asked Vineer.

"Database? Of what?"

"People. You're the security force of Omega, right?" It was a long shot, but it could work.

"Well, yes. It's not as refined as, say, C-Sec, but we have one."

"There's a name I want you to look up. Do that, and Aria doesn't have to know about any of this."

Vineer cocked his head. "I can't promise any results, but I'll do it. What's the name?"

There was still one solitary lead, albeit one as thin as a thread. The one name he still had.

"Drineax."

* * *

 

**John**

Despite the loss of the Citadel, the Council still managed to maintain a few extravagances. The cherry blossom trees that grew in the previous Council chamber were gone, but small arboreta still displayed their natural beauty through glass windows, artificial sunlight filtering through the ceiling just like in the Presidium. The sky he saw above was an image rather than an actual atmosphere, a hologram projected by panels in the ceiling, but the blue sky and the blinding sunlight felt just as real as on any planet he'd set foot on. He allowed himself a short moment to admire these things while Winters led him along, seemingly used to the surroundings.

"None of this was here before the War," Winters said somewhat proudly. "They added it in after the Council made the Ascension their official center of operations."

_Thank god they could spare the resources for this._ Otherwise, they might have had to spend money on something trivial, like reconstruction efforts. Still, the plants were beautiful. He wondered if there was some sort of political message in their placement, like the conquering of life over endless space or something to that effect. Every small gesture in the political arena seemed to bear some great and terrible undertone in its shadow; he would rather enjoy the thing itself, no strings attached.

Throughout the room, several people of various species completed their business, some of them conversing intently over holographic datasets, others alone but no less concentrated on whatever they were doing. He recognized Councilor Sparatus hunched over an asari's shoulder, watching her type into her terminal at a furious speed. He realized that he wouldn't know the other Councilors even if he saw them.

"Winters, could you, uh, point the Councilors out to me?"

"Um, you don't know who they are, sir?"

"I. . .just do it, please."

"Yes, sir. Well, uh, there's Councilor Sparatus, I think you remember him. The asari he's watching is Councilor Lidanya. She was the commanding officer of the Ascension during the War, but after Tevos resigned, she was the best choice for the asari Councilor."

"Why a military commander instead of a career politician?"

"Because Tevos was a career politician. They arrested her for concealing prothean technology, along with most of the highest-ups in all asari government; I bet most people are tired of career politicians right now."

"Hmm." Tevos had never been _directly_ antagonistic towards John. . .she at least tried to remain somewhat diplomatic in their encounters. But she had opposed his efforts to prepare the galaxy for the Reaper invasion all the same, and it was hard to tell if her placating manner towards him was a good thing or even worse than Sparatus' outright disapproval. "And the others?"

"The human Councilor is. . .ah, over there," he pointed to a woman no older than thirty, her long, black hair tied into a professional ponytail. An even younger girl, possibly a student intern, was showing her something on a datapad. "Corrina Loyal. She appeared out of nowhere after the War, but her reconstruction efforts have been amazing; she's helped build hospitals, restore roads, preserve landmarks—and that's just on Earth. Best of all, she has a record of being completely anti-Cerberus, a big plus after Udina. Humans are gonna have a hard time regaining galactic trust after him, but I think Loyal can do it."

"And the others?"

"The other Councilors aren't here at the moment. Councilor Valern died last year of natural causes, but with the salarians' inner conflict, there hasn't been a new Councilor for them yet. The newly admitted species are either at home assisting with reconstruction efforts or somewhere else. The quarians have been mostly focused on re-establishing their home world, so Councilor Shala'Raan has barely been active in the new Council."

He didn't know Admiral Shala'Raan had been made the first quarian Councilor. He wondered what Tali thought of that. They hadn't seen eachother since the end of the War.

Ignoring the sudden feeling of nostalgia building up in his head, he approached Sparatus—the closest, unfortunately—until the turian noticed him and stood to attention.

"Shepard," the Councilor said, his voice betraying none of the displeasure he almost certainly felt. At least he omitted the _Commander._ "I didn't expect to see you here." Winters fell a few steps behind John. The kid probably never spoke to a Councilor before, let alone come within hand-shaking distance.

"Admiral Hackett told me about the raloi situation."

Sparatus nodded, placing his hands behind his back as he spoke. "Ah. Yes, I'd heard you were coming to take care of that. Thank you for speaking with ambassador Ari'ka. The Council would love to welcome the raloi into the galactic community, but there's simply been no time; what with reconstruction and just getting back on our feet. . ."

_Uh-huh._ A Council of three could find the time to run the galaxy; a Council of nine could easily do something as simple as meet with a species' ambassador. Winters' assessment seemed more and more plausible by the moment. "Always happy to help."

Sparatus gestured to Lidanya. "Lidanya, this is former-Commander Shepard. I don't think you've met."

Lidanya had the widest eyes of any asari John had ever known. Their wideness was only accentuated by her long, narrow face and bright red freckle-like facial markings, which wrapped around her eyes in a pattern similar to some turian insignias. Despite her wide eyes giving the appearance of youthful wonder, she was a Matriarch, which meant she was probably at least seven hundred years old.

"We spoke once," Lidanya said. "When Sovereign attacked the Citadel in 2183. I think our conversation consisted mostly of, 'Holy shit, help us, Commander Shepard!' and you giving orders to save us."

Sparatus didn't acknowledge Lidanya's frank use of language, but the sight of a Councilor without a chip on their shoulder was refreshing for John. He chuckled. "Actually, I think my end of the conversation was, 'Holy shit, help me!'"

They laughed for a moment, leaving Winters and Sparatus looking rather uncomfortable.

"Oh, it's good to laugh every once in a while," Lidanya said. "There's been enough of the rest of it in one asari lifetime."

"Indeed," Sparatus interjected, "but I doubt Shepard came all this way just to joke with us, Councilor."

"Yes, right," Lidanya said, suddenly reminded of her role as leader of trillions. She stood and straightened her uniform, adjusting her stance to something more Councilor-like. "Was there something we could do for you, Shepard?"

"Actually, I just wanted to look around the Ascension for a little bit before meeting with Ambassador Ari'ka. Never been before. Can I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"What do you have planned for the raloi in the future?"

"That," Sparatus answered, "depends on the raloi. Obviously we want to extend an official welcome to Turvess, but the raloi have proven themselves to be rather reluctant to participate in matters of galactic importance. If their species demonstrates a sincere desire to cooperate with the Council, then they will have the opportunity to prove themselves."

"Just like the humans," John said.

Sparatus nodded hesitantly. "Yes. I suppose so."

"So what galactic disaster do you think it'll take for them to get a little notice? I can volunteer if you need another rogue Spectre. . ."

Lidanya snorted, covering her mouth to pretend she wasn't laughing. Sparatus acknowledged the joke with an annoyed twitch of his mandibles.

"But seriously," John said, "I don't know why you still come to me with your problems. I'm retired. A lot of people seem to have trouble remembering that. Maybe you should figure your own shit out this time?"

Neither of the Councilors reacted. After a moment, Sparatus tapped his fingers against Lidanya's chair. "Walk with me a moment, Shepard. Excuse us, Councilor."

"Good to meet you," Lidanya said halfheartedly before turning back to her terminal. Shepard followed Sparatus to a relatively private spot in the room, near a window.

"I know we've had our disagreements. . ." Sparatus began.

"You could say that."

". . .But I had hoped you could at least spare us the theatrics now that the real danger is passed. Why do you think we asked you for your help with the raloi? The Council doesn't entirely agree, but the raloi could be indispensable to reconstruction efforts. It would be foolish to reject them now."

John was stunned. Sparatus wanted to _help_ the raloi? "So why don't you just accept them?"

"Because their position with the galaxy is too untenable! If I publicly express my support, the krogan will immediately declare war against them just to spite the turians, and I'll never hear the end of the asari chants of hypocrisy. Even if the Council was united on this, which we are not, there are still hundreds of millions of galactic citizens who think the raloi are cowards or worse. That's why I asked Admiral Hackett, as a favor, to involve you. If you publicly support the raloi, their image will improve and support for their instatement will skyrocket, and the Council can voice its official support without risking any more conflict, internal or external."

He didn't consider it so deeply. His every decision rippled with consequences far beyond his own control or understanding.

"But you're so wrapped up in past mistakes—most of them mine, I freely admit—that you can't make the best choice for all those involved. As frustrating as you always were, you at least knew to make the right choice."

Sparatus shook his head, sighed. "It doesn't matter. If you won't help, then perhaps we can grant the raloi a temporary embassy to help ease their transition."

"No," John said, "I'll help. I'm. . .sorry. I didn't consider just how important this is."

Sparatus nodded. "It's all important, isn't it? Every decision holds the weight of trillions of lives." He broke eye contact for a moment. "And mine have not always been the right decisions. That is made more and more apparent to me by the day. I am not exactly the galaxy's most popular politician, as you may have noticed."

Public scrutiny of the Council and their treatment of John and his crew during the Reaper War must have been fierce. He couldn't blame them. They could have had years to prepare for the Reapers, but the Council ignored the warnings until it was too late.

"Oh," Sparatus said in a much more enthusiastic tone, regaining eye contact. "How is the Executor? I heard about his attack in the hospital."

"I think Pallin's more embarrassed than anything else. He'll be all right."

Sparatus nodded. "Good, good. I think I'll pay him a visit soon. There's something I've been meaning to discuss with him for a while now. In any case, good luck with Ambassador Ari'ka, Shepard." He nodded his farewell and returned to Lidanya.

John's opinion of the man was less than favorable. But for the first time, he wondered if he wasn't being unfair toward Sparatus. It's not like he _wanted_ the destruction of the entire galaxy. He was just a stubborn man caught in an impossible situation, and couldn't handle it very well.

Regardless. He'd seen enough of the Ascension for a first visit. It was time to meet Ambassador Ari'ka.

* * *

 

**Solana**

The room was large, but it was still just a bedroom. She wasn't sure what she expected, really. An executive office? A secret lab? Where did revolutionaries typically plan their activities?

The room was simple, with a desk in the corner and a large bed near the center wall. There were no windows in the room, which seemed odd, considering it belonged to Archangel. Perhaps he wasn't interested in lofty views. The only personal touch to the room was an odd painting on the wall.

At the desk sat a turian, presumably Archangel, in full body armor. He stood when they entered. He was tall, almost a full head taller than Solana, though part of that may have been his helmet, the lens of which obscured his face completely. Archangel nodded to Drineax, who turned and patted Solana's shoulder before he left.

"Welcome." His voice, filtered through the helmet, carried no particular accent that she could make out. "Forgive the modest holdings. A vigilante can only afford so much in terms of housing. Have you been treated well?"

She nodded, suddenly feeling very nervous. She was alone with Omega's Most Wanted, after all. "Thank you. For the Blue Suns."

Archangel waved her off. "I feel responsible for your being there in the first place. I instructed Gabriel to remain authentic in their employ, but I didn't expect them to do something so desperate as kidnap civilians. It's not an oversight I'll make again. Gabriel has told me much about you."

"You mean Drineax?" She was concerned just how much he knew about her.

Archangel nodded slowly. "Yes. I do not call him by that name. Names, for me, are something of grand significance, and the ones we are assigned by our parents don't always live up to that significance. To me, he is Gabriel: a herald of great change for this world, and that is what I call him. He believes that to be ridiculous. What about you?"

She thought about her answer. She had the strange feeling that she was being tested somehow, though for what, she had no idea. "It. . .makes sense, but it's also kinda ridiculous. Our names are just a part of who we are."

"And yet we attribute tremendous importance to them. We judge the very character of people, consciously or unconsciously, the moment we hear their names, regardless of whether or not we've even seen their faces."

"Is that why you don't tell anyone your name?"

She didn't mean for it to come out so bluntly, but there it was. "There are some practical considerations for that. If someone knew to search for me by another name, I might be compromised. As far as I'm concerned, Archangel is my name. This is my face." He put a hand to his helmet. "This is my identity. There is nobody else."

"But there was before."

"There was a husk searching for an identity before. He found one. Or it found him. Are you religious?"

She shook her head.

"I like to believe the spirit of Archangel found its way to me, as perhaps it did for the previous bearer of the name."

So he really wasn't the first. Maybe it was passed down, or maybe he just took it upon himself. "You seem to enjoy religious beliefs. What with the whole angel persona."

Archangel lifted his arms. "How can I not? Divine intervention, the afterlife, an ethereal war between good and evil with us mortal creatures stuck in the grey middle. . .humans in particular have fascinating religious beliefs. There's so _many_ of them, and they all go into detail centuries or even millennia in the making. What better way to instill the fear of god into your enemies than with his holy agents?"

She couldn't really argue with that.

"But I didn't call you here to discuss philosophy." He put his arms down and his voice took on a more serious tone. He gestured to the bed. She sat at the foot while he took his desk chair and spun it around. They sat only several feet from eachother.

"I want your help," Archangel said.

She wasn't surprised. "I don't know if I can convince my brother or Shepard to support your cause. . ."

Archangel laughed, shaking his head, which did surprise her. "If I wanted your brother, or Commander Shepard, I would have contacted them. Yes, their support would greatly benefit us, at least in the public eye, but I have no intention of using you to draw them in. No, I want you—you, specifically—to join me in freeing this station."

She wasn't sure how to respond. "Why me?"

"We've retaken an important symbol of the Blue Suns' victory against the previous Archangel, thanks in large part to you."

She looked down at her hands. Thanks to her biotic powers, he meant. "I didn't do anything. I hid most of the time."

"Gabriel tells me you broke free from his agents to charge back into the safehouse and protect the other hostages, armed with nothing but a pistol and your own. . .abilities. He also says you killed Marina, who was no pushover, even for us."

"That was an accident." Mostly.

"Even so. Some would say that your heroism is inherited. After all, both your father and your brother are Venari."

She shook her head. "I don't have the same military experience as my brother. I'm a medic, not a vanguard."

"Even better! We have an abundance of soldiers and snipers and battlefield veterans, but not nearly enough clinics or field medics for our needs. We can always use someone with the integrity to protect her comrades in arms, who won't abandon those who need her. Do you possess that integrity?"

She said nothing. She thought about Palaven those five years ago, and all the people she left behind in that school. Perhaps if Archangel knew about that, he wouldn't compliment her heroics.

But maybe this was a chance to redeem herself.

"You don't have a problem with. . .?" She showed him her hands.

He chuckled. "I'm in no position to turn down support over simple-minded prejudice. Your abilities are a gift, and you've shown yourself to be adept at wielding them. You will not be confined to a single unit or duty just because you're a biotic, you have my word on that."

This was new. For the first time in her life, someone other than her father knew about her powers. . .and accepted her just fine for it. She could finally be herself and not have to worry about being taken away or conscripted into a Cabal unit. But did she really believe in this man and his cause?

"I don't know. . ." she said half to herself.

"How about this: you help my agents in the field, see if your mind sways one way or another. Then you can make your decision. I won't begrudge you if you say no. But there is one important matter to discuss. . .Gabriel told me about your call to your brother."

Crap. She hoped the subject wouldn't come up. "I didn't mean to—"

Archangel raised a hand. "I understand. I place the brunt of the blame on Gabriel, for not consulting me beforehand. Nobody would say you didn't deserve it, after all you've been through. But you did compromise our operations when you gave his name to your brother—perhaps dangerously so. Gabriel is amending it now. Whether you to decide to stay or not, nobody can know what you've learned today, and what you may learn later. Not even your family. I will not allow this cause to be compromised by anyone, for any reason. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "Don't blame Drineax. He really believes in your cause."

"He's a good man and a reliable asset. He'll have no trouble redeeming himself." He stood. "Come look at this."

He showed her the painting. She had never seen it before; it depicted four humans in strange, colorful dress gathered around a large stone object. The style appeared quite old; there was no neon or even holographic element to the picture, as though no technology was involved in its creation whatsoever.

"This is a human classic," Archangel said. "Not the original, obviously. I bought it for ten credits in an antique store years ago. Whenever I have to make a difficult decision, or give an order that tugs at my conscience, I look at this. It inspired the name for this place."

"What is it?"

"The painting's name is _Et in Arcadia ego,_ which translates to 'Even in Arcadia, there am I.' That stone those humans are gathered around? It's a tomb. Arcadia was a name for a human paradise, hence why they named a planet after it, and why I named this place for it. But the painting is a reminder that even in paradise, death is present. Even in the light of a star, the encroaching darkness of space is all around us. Here, while I try to build a paradise of my own, sometimes Hell itself makes its presence known. And I have to live with it."

She looked at the painting differently. The interpretation Archangel offered struck her as bleak and depressing. The humans in the painting didn't seem so depressed, but maybe that was the point. Art was never really her thing.

"Gabriel will redeem himself," Archangel continued. "Some things, however, are beyond redemption. I would not hesitate to kill him if he became injurious toward our goal. If you don't share my beliefs or my vision for the future of Omega, that's fine, and you may leave in peace. But if you stand against me or sabotage our operation, even through ignorance, you are a threat I have to remove. Do you understand, Solana Vakarian?"

His head didn't budge a single iota as he spoke, his gaze pointedly in her direction. She could feel his eyes on hers even through his visor.

"I understand," she said to that visor. "But I have a question. What _is_ your goal for Omega?"

"I intend to remove the toxic presence that keeps this place a den of animals."

"Yes, but what do you plan to do? Do you want to take Aria's spot, join Council space, or what?"

He didn't answer immediately. "That. . .is something I hope you'll help me figure out. Now, I suggest asking Raphael if you have any further questions. I have to get back to work. The future is bright, Solana."

He held the door open for her and closed it the moment she was through. She walked through the hall back the way she came. Raphael—great, now she was doing it— _Gavorn_ stood waiting.

"Welcome back," he said. "How was it? Did he give you the painting speech?"

She felt herself relax slightly. At least she could see Gavorn's face. "He's definitely. . .intense."

"You'll warm up to him if you live long enough. I'm either supposed to brief you on our upcoming mission or escort you off the station. Are you staying?"

She looked back at the door to Archangel's room. Working with someone like that would be dangerous. in a lot of ways. But she saw firsthand what Omega was like, experienced some of its worst parts in mere hours. A lot of people would benefit from its depuration. And if she could be at least partially responsible for that, then maybe she could move past her own failures.

Maybe.

"All right," she said, looking back at Gavorn. "What's this mission?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I'm not dead. I just write like someone who's dead. That's all.


	12. A Time for Diplomacy

**Garrus**

Garrus met with his team outside the Talons headquarters. The entire building was being swept for hidden bugs, and they agreed that the safest place to discuss mission-sensitive materials was in the car.

"So what now?" Caelon asked. It was the question he'd asked himself many times already. If only one of the damned attackers survived, maybe they could draw up some fresh leads from him. As it was, they were just sitting with their thumbs up their asses, waiting for Vineer to possibly find something on a name that could belong to hundreds of people for all they knew. It was like C-Sec all over again, except at least he didn't have to worry about being stabbed in the back over there.

"What about Eclipse or the Blood Pack?" Benaka said. "Archangel took down the Blue Suns. He has to go after them next."

"Yes," Lutis said, "but which one? Assuming he doesn't go after both of them at once, like he did before."

Even if they knew who Archangel would go after next, it still wouldn't reveal who he was, or what he wanted. It wouldn't bring him any close to Solana.

"He has to know we're here," he said to the group. They all looked toward him. It felt good to be in charge again. "What happened here will reach him sooner or later."

"So he knows Aria's after him," Lutis said. "So what?"

"Not Aria," Garrus replied. "Me. I'm the most recognizable turian in the galaxy, right?"

Lutis looked skeptical. "Yeah?"

"It would really hamper his support for the most recognizable turian in the galaxy to publicly criticize his revolution."

Lutis shook his head. "Great idea, except if he does have your sister, which we don't know for sure, he'll certainly kill her if you become a problem. You said you were a cop?"

"He won't dare kill her. He knows I've lived through worse and that I can bring down the wrath of a god on his head."

"There's the problem, though: he thinks he _is_ a god. Whatever you've done in the past, he thinks he can beat you now, and he has an army of zealots who agree with him. That makes him irrational and dangerous. It would be better to lay low, at least until your sister's safe."

The problem was getting her safe. How could he save the entire galaxy from the Reapers, but not find his own sister on a single asteroid?

He needed fresh air. He stepped out of the car without a word and walked a few paces away. The rusty hue of Omega could pass as beautiful in the right mood, but right now all he could see was a decayed prison. One where his sister was kept, somewhere.

People passed by, most with their heads kept down, though a few looked up at him and quickened their pace. Yes, he was definitely the most recognizable turian in the galaxy. If only he could use that to his advantage. . .

Someone, a turian, bumped into him from behind. The stranger spun around held up his hand. "Sorry! Didn't. . .see you. . .holy shit, you're him."

"Um. . ." He'd met adoring fans before, but he didn't expect to find one on Omega, of all places.

The stranger grabbed his hand and shook it. "Oh, wow. Garrus Vakarian. Man, your scars look so cool! I mean, I'm sure you disagree, but damn, the sex I could get with scars like that. . .ooh, here, can I get a picture?"

Before Garrus could answer, the fan put himself in a close embrace and held out his omni-tool at arm's length, taking the pic. The tool flashed a picture of the fan's gaping smile next to Garrus' look of awkward confusion.

"Oh, wow. Thanks, man. You're seriously my biggest hero."

"Um, thanks. . ."

"Hey, one more thing," the fan said, coming in close again. His face was dangerously close to Garrus'. He could smell his breath. "Sign my armor? Just the arm, you don't have to sign my ass or anything. I mean, if you don't want to. I wouldn't mind."

"Okay, sure." Anything to get rid of the guy. The man gave him a pen (where was he keeping it?) and Garrus began to write on his arm. "Who do I make it out to?"

"Drineax."

All time stopped cold. Garrus looked in the man's grinning eyes. Something hard pressed against his neck where Drineax's arm was—a knife? How had he not seen it?

"Don't freak out, now. Anyone ever tell you that good looks run in your family?" Drineax said, his tone of voice still the same giddy one as before. He pressed Garrus a few more paces away from the car. Garrus couldn't move with the other turian's arm around his neck.

"Where's Solana?" He snarled. He had to get away from this madman.

"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that. See, Solana wasn't really supposed to give you my name earlier. A guy with your resources, that could give me a big problem."

"You, or your boss?"

His expression changed to one of confusion. "My boss? You mean Marina? Archangel took care of her a while ago."

"You don't work for Archangel?" He tried reaching his arms around his back while Drineax talked. If he could just activate his omni-tool. . .

"Of course not! Archangel killed my boss! Well, your sister killed my boss, then Archangel picked her up with the other, ah, conscripts. I'm self-employed now. As for the girl, I have no idea where on Omega she could be. For what it's worth, I didn't know she was your sister when we raided her shuttle. . ."

He managed to graze the tips of his fingers against his omni-tool behind his back. It was enough. His omni-blade activated and he broke away from Drineax in one broad sweep. Drineax jumped away before losing his knife hand.

"Tch. They always say you should never meet your heroes." He crouched slightly into a fighting stance, keeping his eyes on Garrus' omni-blade the whole time.

"Where. Is. Solana?!"

"Hell if I know. I think I already said that."

He didn't have a standard to measure Drineax's heartbeat by, so he couldn't use his visor to see if he was lying. A car door slammed behind Garrus. His team must have finally taken notice. Drineax eyed the four incomers apprehensively. "Time to go!" He turned and started to run.

_Like hell._ Garrus quickly switched to his rifle and fired a concussive shot. The round hit Drineax square in the back, knocking him forward several feet. He hit the ground with an "oomph," then scrambled to his feet. Garrus could have shot him several times, but he needed Drineax alive. He was their only lead.

"What's this?" Zaeed said when he reached Garrus, gun in hand. The others were right behind.

"Drineax," Garrrus replied. "Don't kill him."

"I'll just break his legs a bit." Zaeed cocked his gun. Benaka's joints and eyes glowed bright blue from the biotic power she held. Lutis and Caelon hung back, aiming their weapons. Drineax eyed them all one at a time.

Garrus switched back to his pistol and pointed it at his target. "On the ground, hands on your head," Garrus called, his cop instincts taking over. "I already have enough excuses to make your life miserable. Don't tempt me even more."

Drineax looked around for an escape, but there was nothing, no cover, no backup. Having realized he was outmatched, he slowly raised his hands to his head. "Okay. Okay. This is me being cooperative. See? No. . ." he lifted his gaze up to a building behind Garrus. "Oh, shit," he said, just as a loud boom echoed across the station. Garrus immediately recognized the sound as a sniper shot; the others ducked, looking around behind them. A steaming black hole appeared in the ground mere inches away from Drineax's feet. Drineax jumped back and, with a wave of his hand, opened an omni-shield that he arched over his head.

"Your sniper skills need some work, pal!" He called over his shoulder. A second shot exploded and Drineax's shield fizzled from impact. He clearly was the sniper's target. Garrus needed him alive.

Garrus looked at the direction the shots came from, at a walkway on an upper level. He couldn't see the sniper directly, so he set his visor to scan the environment for any movement or signs of life. A third shot rang out, hitting Drineax's fading shield; the visor registered the heat of the gun and faint movement from the one holding it. He pointed at Drineax. "Benaka! Cover him!"

Benaka raised her hands and erected a biotic shield around herself and Drineax. The sniper didn't destroy Drineax's own tech shield, so Garrus doubted they had prepared for any biotic resistance; still, any shield could break with enough effort. He pulled out his own rifle and loaded a shot. The scopes of his rifles were specially programmed to correspond with his visor, so he could use both at once—his own little secret to his sniper prowess. He aimed the scope while the visor helped him plot out a useful trajectory for his shot to travel, highlighting where a bullet may land and ricochet along with an accuracy prediction. He never took shots with less than a 98% unless he absolutely had to.

With this sniper, a direct shot would be impossible. So instead, Garrus aimed at the walls near the sniper's location. Within three seconds he had a trajectory with a ricochet prediction of 98.2%. Good enough.

He rested the stock against his shoulder, took a deep, steadying breath, and fired, all in one simple motion fueled by nearly two dozen years of repetition. The gun let out a muffled explosion. The spot on the wall where he aimed burst with sparks, and then a small puff of smoke from the sniper's position. Garrus didn't hit the sniper—he hit his gun.

Several quiet seconds passed. Benaka lowered her biotic shield while Drineax held his mouth agape like he had just seen his favorite childhood superhero leap out of a comic book. The sniper didn't fire at them again.

"That was AMAZING," Drineax said.

Garrus turned the gun on him. "Imagine what I can do from ten feet away. Who else is after you?"

Drineax shrugged. "If it's who I think it is, then an old headache I mistakenly thought was dead. A lot of people want to kill me for some reason. Uh, could we go inside, just in case he comes back. . ."

"We'll talk here," Garrus said. "I want one good reason not to kill you."

"I'll talk—I owe you that much for saving me. But I told you everything I know about your sister. I have no idea where she is. As for reasons not to kill me. . .um. . .give me a second."

Garrus adjusted his visor. "We're gonna play a game called 'Lie and Die.' Know how you lose?"

"I think I can guess."

"Good. To win, you just have to tell me the truth. Then I'll decide what to do with you."

He asked Drineax the test questions to establish a normal heartbeat range. When he was satisfied, he asked the first question.

"Did you in any way harm Solana?"

"No," Drineax answered immediately. The visor registered no change in his vitals. "Even before I learned who she was, I didn't hurt her."

"Shut up. Just 'yes' or 'no' answers. Next question: Do you know where she is now?"

"No."

Still no change. He really was telling the truth. _Fuck._ His one lead was a dead end. "Fine, next question: Do you work for Archangel?"

"No."

Still no change. But why did Solana mention him if he wasn't connected to Archangel? Had Garrus misinterpreted her? He needed something, anything.

"Why was the sniper after you? Who was he?"

"Like I said, I'm not the most popular guy on Omega. If he's who I think he is, he works for Archangel."

That perked Garrus up a bit. "How do you know that?"

"I'm the last member of the Omega faction of the Blue Suns. Archangel isn't known for leaving loose ends. You're the more high-profile target here, but since he only went after me, he must have a grudge against me, specifically. . .though that doesn't narrow the field much, either. Maybe you can get some info on your sister from him?"

It was a good idea. Better than anything else he could come up with.

"So," Drineax said, standing slowly. "I told you everything I know. Can I go now, or. . .?"

Garrus considered for a moment. He lowered his rifle and put it away. Then he pulled out his pistol and shot Drineax in the foot.

The other turian rolled onto his back, screaming. "Ahh! Fucking—foot—fuck—shitcock—fuck!" Blood pooled from the hole in his armor.

Garrus loomed over the bastard and put the barrel of his pistol against his head. "That was for my sister. I _ever_ see you again, I'll kill you. Got it?"

"Dahh, fucking got it! Shit!" He stood and started to limp away, blood trailing behind him in blue spots. After a few steps, he stopped and turned around. "So—goddammit, this hurts—I guess no autograph?"

Garrus fired another shot at the ground mere inches away from Drineax's other foot, causing him to jump on his injured one. He cried out again, then limped away.

"We should just kill him," Zaeed said. "Do the galaxy a favor, if you ask me."

It was tempting. But John wouldn't like it. And, over time, he knew he'd come to regret it as well—just like when he had the chance to kill Sidonis.

"Leave him be." He looked up at the ledge where the sniper stood. "Let's go check out this other spot first."

* * *

**John**

Ambassador Ari'ka was a bird.

Not bird- _like,_ like the turians, but an actual honest-to-god bird. In an environmental suit. He stood at about six feet on two legs, with three toes and three fingers ( _another three-digit species,_ he thought) arranged like. . .well, like talons, only more pronounced than on a turian. The facial area of the environmental suit had a large protrusion on the end to cover the beak inside. Ari'ka was restless, lifting his legs as if stretching the suit out and pacing back and forth in quick, tiny steps, not unlike a chicken.

"Well, at least he's easy to spot," Winters said in a low voice.

John cleared his throat so not to laugh. "Ambassador?"

The raloi's head turned at a degree not quite possible for the other species, then his body followed. He walked over to the two humans with a highly awkward gait.

"Mister Shepard?" the ambassador asked as he approached. John saw his eyes through the suit's visor. His eyes were beautifully multicolored, with red and blue and yellow mixed into the irises. Ari'ka bowed slightly, stretching out his arms behind his back. "Pleasure to meet you. Excuse my greeting; it's much more dignified when you can see the feathers."

John extended his hand. "It's been a long time since I was called 'Mister.'" Ari'ka looked at it for a moment, then took it in a firm shake.

"I guess the raloi don't shake hands often?"

"No, but I've met other humans who have shown me this form of greeting. Ach, forgive me, this suit is horribly uncomfortable." He lifted his right foot and scratched at his left side with its talons, balancing perfectly on the other leg as he did so. John noticed the gun at his hip, a Devlon Stinger.

"I see you've become familiar with galactic weapons manufacturers," John said, nodding to the gun.

"Hm? Oh, this. It was a gift, the first time our species made contact, before. . ."

"Before the Reaper War?"

Ari'ka nodded. "Yes. I heard you are to thank for the victory of organic life. I admit, it's hard to imagine a single creature having so large an impact on such a cataclysm. I would love to hear the whole story from you, personally."

It was easy to let his ego get carried away with that kind of praise, so he decided to change the subject. "I can't say I know much about the raloi, Ambassador. I was kind of, ah, surprised by this meeting only recently."

"I would love to teach you about our species! We can learn about eachother on the way. Let's walk."

Ari'ka's legs bent up at a backward angle as he walked, his kneecaps evidently on the back of the legs instead of the front. Were those his knees? Did birds have knees at the same places as humans, or. . .

". . .so of course our food consists mostly of insects and. . ."

His head twitched constantly, like a sparrow on the lookout for danger from any possible direction. He seemed to still be able to watch where he was walking, though.

"Can you fly?" He blurted out.

Ari'ka stopped mid-sentence. "Excuse me?"

"Can you fly? Do the raloi have wings, or. . .?"

Ari'ka's head twitched. "That's always the first question I'm asked. Well, we have wings." He raised his arms. "I obviously can't fly with this suit on, but if we were on Turvess, I could perform a demonstration." He put his arms down.

"How do the raloi handle conflict?"

"Depends on the scale. We rarely wage war with eachother, but domestic disputes over things like food and property can be fairly common. We don't have contact sports like you do; a raloi will sooner flee from harm than embrace it."

"Is that why your species fled from the Reapers?"

He finally stood still, albeit just for a moment. "Ah. I hoped to postpone that discussion. . ."

"Sorry, but it's a pretty important one. All of the other species remember the raloi reaction to the War, and none of them are happy about it."

"Does that include you?"

"Honestly? The outrage makes some sense to me."

Ari'ka raised his arms in frustration. "Try to understand, Mister Shepard. My species was—is— still in their technological infancy. We only know of the existence of the other galactic races because we literally stumbled upon an asari cruiser on our very first manned spaceflight. The course of our entire history and civilization changed overnight, and then? A year later and we learn that an unstoppable force is targeting all organic life, a force that created all of the technology the other races use! We don't have advanced interstellar weaponry, we don't have a Normandy-class cruiser capable of travel faster than the speed of light, we don't even have flying cars! How else could we respond but to retreat and pray for the Reapers to miss us this cycle?"

"All of the races were jeopardized by the Reapers, Ambassador. Entire worlds were destroyed. Turvess could have been opened for refugees or. . ."

Ari'ka sputtered. "Mister Shepard, do you know why I'm wearing this suit?"

"I assume it's for the same reason as the quarians: so you don't get sick."

"No. I'm wearing this suit so _you_ don't get sick. After first contact, some members of the other species got sick around me. We discovered that a certain protein, completely benign to the raloi, causes a deadly avian flu to the other races. We were in the midst of making a cure when the Reapers attacked. Any refugees we accepted into Turvess would either have to wear one of these infernal things their entire stay, or die of the H7N7 virus. And that's if we even had the resources to admit millions of extraterrestrials into our atmosphere. No, Mister Shepard: our situation was hopeless from the beginning. What we didn't count on was a single creature winning this war, regardless of species."

His reasoning made a lot of sense. If the Reapers had attacked right after humanity made first contact in 2157, would Earth have responded so differently? It was disturbing to think about.

They wandered into a large pavilion (or was it a pavilion? Inside a ship this huge, who could tell the difference?), crowded with people. Did they live on the Ascension, like on the Citadel or Omega? Were the apartments, or barracks, or. . .?

A couple of batarians glared at them from a nearby bench, four pairs of eyes following their movements. They didn't seem to care that John had noticed them. The fact that they were armored made him nervous.

_Remember what you promised Garrus,_ he told himself. Ever since the destruction of the Bahak System, he tried to keep his well-honed anti-batarian prejudices in check. He focused on ignoring the batarians.

Winters, who had been silent the entire exchange, spoke up. "How did you make contact again?"

"We built a satellite and transmitted a radio signal towards the Citadel, to see if anyone answered. The Citadel was gone, but the Destiny Ascension picked up the signal. It took two years for them to respond, but here we are."

"Strange," Winters said. "A radio satellite would have taken much longer to find the Ascension."

"Well. . ."

The batarians moved. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw one stomping towards them, the other saying something in a hurried voice. All John caught was "not worth it."

He reached for his pistol before he realized he wasn't carrying one. _Damn it!_

"Winters, watch your seven," he said, moving to shield the ambassador. Winters turned just as the angrier of the two batarians closed in on the three of them.

"Shepard!" He called out. "Bet you're just living it up, aren't ya? Long live the conquering hero! nevermind the massacre of the Bahak System, or letting the batarian species go extinct while you do your damndest to save everyone else!"

Winters jumped between them, pistol in hand. "Back off, now." Despite his youth, he held the gun without a single shudder, clearly used to it.

The second batarian, having caught up with the first, put a hand on his shoulder. "I said it's not worth it, Malik!"

Malik apparently wasn't listening. He pointed at Ari'ka, making the raloi jump. "He even helps that coward race before us! Batarians are without a homeworld or a future, but _they're_ your priority, Shepard?"

Winters aimed his weapon before John could even respond. "I said—"

Malik grabbed Winters' arm. A shot fired into the air, but nobody was hit; Winters struggled against the batarian for the gun. John pushed Ari'ka away, knocking him to the ground; he crawled away and hid behind a large nearby plant. John opened his omni-tool; even without a gun, he could produce an omni-blade.

If he could remember how.

He stared at the glowing tool on his arm. Why the hell couldn't he remember how to extend the blade? He'd done it a thousand times before!

Malik's companion jumped on Winters, forcing him to let go of his gun. The two of them tumbled away, leaving Malik heading right for John. Fury burned in the batarian's eyes as he raised the gun with a shaky aim, like someone unfamiliar with weapons.

As John still tried to comprehend the basic use of his own omni-tool, a shot rang out, then another in quick succession. Malik started, eyes wide, and John looked to where the shots came from: Ambassador Ari'ka aimed his own pistol from behind the plant, his arms shaking as he fired a third and fourth shot in Malik's direction. The distraction was enough for John to take the batarian by surprise, knocking him to the ground. He took the gun from Malik's hand and fired it a few feet away from his companion, who still wrestled with Winters. Their fighting stopped as the other batarian raised their hands and slowly stood.

Three turian security guards rushed in, fully armored and arms at the ready, ordering everyone to drop their weapons. One of them, a woman with bright blue facial markings, pointed at John. "Commander Shepard?" She said, eyes widening in a momentary loss of composure. "What's going on here?"

John pointed at the batarians. "These two attacked us."

"How the hell did they get a gun on the Ascension?" The turian, apparently the leader, knelt down with her omni-tool active to check on Malik's wounds. Malik groaned; only one of Ari'ka's shots hit, but it was enough.

Winters stood. "They took my gun," he said.

"Okay," the turian replied. "How the hell did _you_ get a gun on the Ascension?"

"Alliance personnel. I have a permit."

The other two turians cuffed the second batarian and led him off. The female stood. "I'll get a medic for this one. You really did a number on him, Commander."

"Actually, that was. . ." he pointed to where the ambassador hid. He was still there, crouched behind the plant. ". . .Him." He went over and knelt down to help Ari'ka stand on his feet. He was shaking so hard that his suit vibrated in John's hands.

"I-I-I've n-never fired a r-r-real gun before! It was s-so loud. . .oh, Ch'ttle, did I kill him?!"

"He'll be fine," the turian said. "Really, I'm just glad you didn't hit anyone else. You're the new guy, right?" She extended a hand, which Ari'ka nervously took. "Executor Beatrix."

John and Winters looked at eachother. Winters mouthed, _Executor?_ John shrugged.

"As for you two," Beatrix said, wheeling on her heels to face them, "Be more careful. I'm not about to have this ship go down the same toilet as the Citadel." She nodded at John. "Big fan, by the way. Now, I'm going to go file this away somewhere."

She left as quickly as she came in, while medics took Malik away. "Shouldn't she have, like, an office or something?" Winters asked.

John didn't answer. He still couldn't remember how to work his omni-blade. He remembered doing it before, many, many times, but the specific executions just wouldn't come to him. What else had he forgotten?

He turned to face Ari'ka. "It was good to meet you, ambassador, but there's something I need to do." He shook Ari'ka's hand. "We'll talk more later. And thank you. You saved my life back there."

Ari'ka's eyes blinked behind his suit. "I, um, you're welcome?" He took John's hand. "Perhaps it's best that we part. I think I need a new suit."

John saluted Winters, who returned the gesture proudly. "I'll escort you to your shuttle, sir."

"That won't be necessary."

"But. . ."

He was concerned about the attack. Well, if John couldn't defend himself here, what could he do if he got ambushed again? He decided to accept Winters' escort.

When they were far enough away from any onlookers, John called Lanira and scheduled another appointment, one which he intended to meet as soon as possible.

* * *

**Solana**

The massive tent they were huddled under was more a carnival booth than a clinic, but that's where Drineax went. Gavorn received his call on his omni-tool, an endless string of groaning and cursing with a few intelligible words in between. They managed to gather that he'd been shot and was holed up in a nearby clinic. Men and women of various species and ailments crowded the noisy area, with only a couple of salarian physicians working on prioritizing the emergency cases. If they even were physicians. Drineax himself lay on a stretcher, his foot lifted and plastered with a layer of bandages.

"It was amazing," he said, his voice quick and giddy now that the pain was dulled. "You should have seen him. He hit me with one shot. One shot! He barely even aimed! Just," he pointed with his fingers like a gun, "and _pow_!"

She had never heard someone praise their shooter so much. "He did it because of me. I'm sorry."

"Are you kidding? I got to meet _Garrus Vakarian._ I almost got his autograph, too. I guess this is the next best thing."

Solana couldn't believe that Garrus had done such a thing, even for her sake. When did her brother get so violent?

Gavorn stood next to the bed. Michael, Archangel's third lieutenant, stood at the foot, his gaze never leaving Drineax. They only met for a brief second before rushing to the clinic together, but Michael already disturbed her greatly, possibly because of the fact that he didn't speak. To anyone. Ever. Judging by how everyone avoided being around him—Drineax even seemed to sink into his bed slightly as Michael stared at him—she felt she wasn't alone in that assessment.

"Did you tell him anything?" Gavorn said, straight to the point. She may have blown their entire mission just by being there.

"Just the truth."

"The truth?"

"Yeah. He asked me if I knew where his sister was. I told him no, which was true. I mean, I knew your general vicinity, but I didn't know if you were in the bathroom or the kitchen or wherever; it's an incredibly long list of possibilities, if you think about it. I can't be expected to know something so expansive as that at the top of my head!"

Gavorn grinned. "Good man. And Archangel?"

"Same thing. He asked if I worked for him, and I said no, which is also true. I consider mine to be more of a consulting role."

Michael grabbed Drineax's bandaged foot and squeezed.

"Ahh! Motherfucker! It's true, damn it! I didn't say anything! I swear on Aria's tits, I didn't!"

Michael let go of the foot, which Drineax drew up to cradle in his hands. "Goddammit. Was that really necessary, Mike?"

"Did he believe you?" Gavorn said. "You sure you weren't followed?"

"If he wanted to follow me, he wouldn't have shot me. At least not in the foot; it would slow him down. No, his visor has this nifty lie detector feature—which is awesome, by the way—and all lie detectors are based on things like your breathing, your heartbeat, and so on. Easy to fool if you know how, and if you're really, really good at lying." He turned his head and winked at Solana. "Hey, speaking of Archangel—did you meet him?"

She nodded.

"Ooh, did he give you the painting speech? It means he likes you if he gave you the painting speech."

She couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Yes, he gave me the painting speech."

"That's good! I'd jump for joy, but, you know. Foot."

"Oh, please," Gavorn said. "You're barely even hurt." He grabbed Drineax's foot, eliciting another round of curses, and unwrapped the bandaging. While the bandages were stained with blood, the foot itself only bore a few stitches above the second metatarsal. The bullet probably only grazed him.

"Wha—" she began, flabbergasted. "Why are you making such a fuss over this?"

Drineax shrank into the bed again. "I might have a. . .slightly low amount of tolerance for pain."

"That's one way to put it," Gavorn said, dropping the foot. He wiped his hand on his armor like it touched something particularly nasty. "If you got so much as a splinter in your hand, you'd swear you were crucified. Now, let's go; we've wasted enough time here."

Drineax sat up and gingerly stepped out of the bed, putting most of his weight on his uninjured foot. "There's one more thing you probably should know," he said as he put his boots on. "I think Azrael's back."

Michael sucked in a quick breath, the only sound Solana'd heard him make thus far. Gavorn's mandibles clicked a couple of times before he spoke.

"How do you know?"

He told them about a sniper that had tried to kill him, and how Garrus had dispatched them in a glorious display of sniper prowess.

"But you didn't see him yourself?"

"No, but who else would try to kill me?"

"Uh, lots of people."

Solana interjected. "Who's Azrael?"

All three of them looked at her as if realizing she was there for the first time. She hated that feeling.

"Let's just say," Drineax said, looking nervously at Michael, "Azrael wouldn't get the painting speech."

"He was one of us at the beginning," Gavorn said. "Really enthusiastic about joining up with Archangel. But before we even got started, he turned on us. No reason whatsoever. He nearly brought us down. We _thought_ he was dead, but. . ." He sighed. "Big Guy's gonna be real pissed when you tell him this, Drin."

Drineax started. "Wha—? Me? Why do I have to tell him!"

"You're the one who found the bastard!"

"Oh, no. If anything, Michael should be the one to—"

Michael glared at Drineax, his deeply sunken yellow eyes promising murder and eternal damnation. Drineax didn't finish his sentence, but he turned back to Gavorn.

"He's already mad at me for the whole Vakarian debacle! Besides, like I said, I'm not one hundred percent sure it was Azrael anyway."

The Vakarian debacle watched this conversation unfold like a bad play, her temper slowly rising. She began to really sympathize with Garrus' decision to shoot Drineax in the foot.

"Oh, that reminds me," Drineax said. He opened his omni-tool and typed in a few commands. Solana's own omni-tool lit up on its own, beeped twice, then disappeared again. Drineax looked at her and grinned. "Now that _that's_ taken care of, you can call your family again."

Her anger vanished in a tide of cautious optimism. "Are you serious?"

"Of course! Just remember the rule."

_No specifics._ Michael glanced at her, his intense gaze clearer than any audible word: _No more chances._ Archangel had been clear enough with her on that point. She realized that Gavorn and Drineax were also looking at her, as if they weren't sure whether she were friend or foe. Well, she wasn't entirely sure herself, was she?

"Thank you. I won't betray your confidence in me."

Gavorn nodded, Drineax clapped his hands together as if that settled the whole thing, and Michael just kept staring. He made her more uncomfortable than even Archangel had.

"Let's get back to work," Gavorn said. "Solana, we were interrupted earlier. We'll finish our briefing in the morning."

"Sounds good." She wanted to call her father anyway.

* * *

**Garrus**

Whoever the sniper was, they'd been in a hurry.

As he suspected, Garrus didn't actually shoot him. Small bits of blackened debris confirmed it; he only hit the gun itself, which likely caused it to overheat and malfunction. The sniper would have fled after that. He took stock of their position above the lower level; as he suspected, it wasn't optimal for a sniper. There were better vantage points all around the area. The sniper likely hadn't planned his attack; he might have just been walking by when he noticed Drineax and quickly set up his weapon.

"You shouldn't have let him go," Lutis said. He kept an eye on every passing car, every ledge, and every passerby now that they've been ambushed.

Garrus didn't justify his decision. He didn't have to. His first instinct was to kill Drineax for kidnapping his sister, but the man didn't seem to know what he was doing at the time. His visor read no lies, and even though it was possible to fool the lie detector, it was very hard, particularly in a stressful situation.

But this sniper. . .

His visor picked up footprints. Elongated, with two digits in the front and one in the back. A turian, most likely male, six-foot-four-ish by the length of his stride. The debris from the gun belonged to a Krysae rifle.

"Interesting. . ." he said to himself.

"I agree with Pouty," Zaeed said. "Leaving that one alive was sloppy."

"I made my decision. Be happy I shot him." He sure was. The whole situation reminded him of when he went chasing after Sidonis. John convinced him to spare Sidonis' life, even when all he wanted to do was kill the bastard. He promised John that he would never pursue cold-blooded revenge again, and he kept that promise. John likely wouldn't have approved of shooting Drineax in the foot, either. . .but John wasn't here this time.

He wanted to change the subject. "Come look at this," he told his team. They gathered around him to look at the charred dust in his hand. He held it up like a project to be shown off.

"It belongs to Krysae rifle."

Lutis stiffened. He knew its significance, but the others didn't. "What's that mean?" Caelon said.

"The Krysae rifle is a modified version of turian antimaterial rifles. During the War, its specifications were released to the public so anyone could create one, as long as they had a fabricator. It's specially designed to fight Reapers." He cleaned the dust off his hands.

"So why would someone bring a Reaper-killer to an organic gunfight?" Caelon asked.

"I don't know." The information was good, but it didn't help him find Solana. It did tell him, however, that their sniper was not likely to be an expert who could take on a group of five. He followed the footprints, their presence amplified by his visor. Hopefully the sniper remained on foot. "Let's ask him when we find him."


	13. Family Squabbles

**John**

He arrived at Lanira's office an hour early. He paced back and forth in front of the nervous receptionist's desk. This time, he wasn't worried about being recognized. He was worried about his own sanity.

He tried opening his omni-blade multiple times, there and on the way. He couldn't remember how it was done. He had to look up a tutorial on the extranet. A tutorial! He'd trained with the thing, used it thousands of times against Reapers and mercenaries and baddies of all types! He might as well have forgotten how to use his own hand!

Even worse than forgetting was the implication lurking like a stray rachni in the walls: What else had he forgotten? How would he know? He tried tracing his steps from his first memory all the way through his thirty-seven years of living (though two of those years didn't count): He remembered Garrus, his parents, his home on Mindoir, his battle against Saren, the destruction of the normandy, joining Cerberus, fighting the Reapers, the ultimate choice he had to make (now there was something he wouldn't mind forgetting), his marriage. . .nothing seemedout of place, but he couldn't possibly remember every detail.

When he awoke from his two years of being dead, Miranda quizzed him to test his memory. He passed then. Would he now?

"Um, sir?" The receptionist said. "She's ready to see you now."

He stopped his pacing. Time flies when you're having an existential meltdown. He thanked the poor woman and rushed into Lanira's office.

"I'm losing my memory," he said the moment the door closed. Lanira hadn't even sat down. The asari calmly crossed her legs and hands and took a deep breath.

"What do you mean by that?" She asked in an infuriatingly calm voice.

"I'm forgetting things, things I should know, things that I've known by heart for years."

"It's natural to forget—"

"Not like this," he interrupted. "I can't activate my own omni-blade. It's like I never used one before."

"Have you noticed anything else wrong?"

"No, but how would I? I found this out when I needed my omni-blade and couldn't use it."

Lanira sat back, considering.

"What about that method you mentioned last time?" He remembered that much, at least. "Would that help here?"

"Possibly. But. . .like I said before, it's a very intimate process. I rarely use it on a client until after I've been seeing them for a year or so."

"I can't wait that long!" Who knows what he'd lose in a year!

Lanira sighed. "All right," she said reluctantly. "I suppose I wouldn't want to wait, in your shoes."

He sat back, relieved. "So how does it work?"

"Memory is very complex. What I do is establish a mental link between us, and you'll lead me through your memories. I'll see if I can identify any that may be causing your current affliction, and we'll go from there." She held up a hand. "There are risks to this. First off, what I see in your mind will be controlled by you, but many clients have a difficult time controlling their memories. Like trying very hard not to think of a certain thing and failing. Your most private thoughts and moments will be at risk of exposure to me. Whatever I see is covered under the same rules as what you tell me in this office, but this goes on a deeper level than conversational therapy."

"I understand." Most of his life was public anyway. What could she find that everyone else in the galaxy didn't already know?

"Secondly, there's physical risk to you as well. Memories are not static; they shift and move, and they move us along with them. It is possible to become trapped in a traumatic experience with no way out, like getting stuck in quicksand."

"Has this ever happened to your clients?"

Lanira nodded. "Only once, two centuries ago. That client died within three weeks."

One person in centuries of practice seemed like good enough odds. He agreed to the treatment; she had him sign some forms outlining the risks, and then she set up a chair inches of his own, so that they sat directly across from eachother. She put her hands on his head, arranging her fingers at his temples.

"Close your eyes," she said in a slow, quiet voice. "Relax."

 _Embrace eternity,_ John thought.

And then they were gone.

* * *

**Solana**

They gave her her own private room, a dormitory sporting a bed and nothing else. Gavorn, Michael, and Drineax went to report their news to Archangel; there was no need for her to come with. That was fine. The ride back to the base gave her time to think about what she would say to her family, and how she would say it. She would have to be careful not to let any details slip this time; Archangel would definitely be listening in on her conversations, just like before.

The minute she was alone, she opened her omni-tool and called her father.

The tool beeped two, three, four times, waiting for an answer. She had no idea what time it was on Jamone, or if her father was even still on Jamone; he might well have left the planet by now, looking for her. But he wouldn't leave Mom alone, would he?

He answered on the sixth beep. "What? Who is this?"

His voice was so exhausted, like a car starting up on its last legs. She must have called him in the middle of the night. That tiredness in his voice frightened her almost as much as this entire ordeal had.

"Dad?"

She heard shuffling, her father probably sitting up in bed. "Sol?" The gnarled exhaustion was still in his voice, but now it mixed with sparkling optimism.

"It's so good to hear you, dad," she said.

"Garrus found you? Are you all right? Xenni, it's Solana."

His mother's voice echoed through the omni-tool, same as it was since she was little. "Solana? Are you all right?"

"Hi, mom. I'm all right. I'm all right."

She heard her father laugh the most relieved-sounding laugh she heard from him in years. Her mother, of course, couldn't laugh.

"Why do you sound so tired, dad? Did I call in the middle of the night?"

"Garrus didn't tell you?"

She hadn't seen Garrus yet, but her father didn't need to know that. "Um, we haven't had a chance to really speak."

"Oh. Well. . .it's nothing. Don't worry about it. When will you be back?"

Ahh, the dreaded question. "Um. . .I don't know. Soon."

"What? Garrus is bringing you back. . .right?"

"It's. . .very hard to explain right now. I can't come back just yet, but I will, okay? I promise."

"Sol—"

"I promise, dad. Okay? There's just something I need to do first. Something important."

". . .You're just like your brother. Sol, whatever you're doing, don't get in over your head. Please. I need you safe. "

She would be safe. She had survived far worse than this. She tried to keep a strong face. "I will. Don't worry, dad. I'm not going to bring home a human Spectre to marry."

"This is serious!" Despite being literally worlds away, she jumped when he raised his voice. A few moments passed, and when he spoke again, his voice was calmer. "I thought you were dead. Just. . .stay alive. No matter what else happens. Even if you have to use your biotics."

She nodded, then remembered she was making a call. "I will. I'm sorry for worrying you all."

"Just call me, okay? Frequently. And, Sol?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't marry a human Spectre."

"I love you, dad."

"I love you too."

She said her farewells to her mother, hung up and slouched against the wall, her legs no longer seeming to want to hold her weight. It had been years since she heard her father sound so worried. What _was_ she doing here?

She exited the room. The lieutenants were still reporting to their general. Nobody disconnected her this time, so at least there was that. She left the suite, went down the elevator, exited the building. She passed multiple guards and bystanders. Nobody stopped her, barred her way with guns or demanded to know where she was going or what she was doing. She could leave at any time, find Garrus, get the hell off Omega and back to her parents, her classes, her life as it was before.

Speaking of Garrus, she still had to call him. Preferably before he shot someone else.

_You're just like your brother._

Far from it. Sure, she was willing to admit to the same patented Vakarian-brand stubbornness that ran through them all, but she and Garrus were as different as siblings could be. She never ran from her responsibilities, for starters.

She found a private spot near a spire of rock, a piece of the original asteroid that made up Omega sticking up like a tree from the ground. She hesitated; a sinking feeling grew in her stomach, a feeling that her call to her father would be the easy one.

* * *

**Archangel**

He held his temper when they told him about Azrael. Barely, but he held it.

He should have executed the son of a bitch himself. Tore his head off and displayed it on a spike, as a warning to anyone else who might try to do what he did. The information he held could ruin everything. _Everything!_

His lieutenants stood nervously, even Michael apparently unsure of what to do as they waited in the war room for his response. Gabriel had done well with Garrus, though his theatrics nearly cost him his life; they were too late to get to Vakarian, but perhaps the girl could get him off their scent.

He took a deep breath and stood up straight. "Thank you. You're all dismissed."

Gabriel started to leave immediately. Clearly he wasn't willing to push his luck. Wise.

Raphael, on the other hand, spoke up. "What about—?"

"Azrael is one man. Keep an eye out for him, but don't divert any unnecessary resources for his capture."

Raphael nodded, satisfied, and left. Michael lingered, looking at Archangel with a concerned glint in his eyes, before leaving as well. Of the three, only Michael understood the significance of Azrael's betrayal. He wouldn't share that information, though. He knew better.

When they were gone from the war room, he removed his helmet and threw it against the wall. It bounded off the wall and onto the floor with a metallic clatter. On the far side of the wall, there was a console; he pressed a few commands into it, and the ceiling opened up into a panoramic view of the galaxy above. In the distance, like a red moon, glinted the Omega-4 Relay.

When Shepard destroyed the Reapers, all of the Relays in the galaxy were destroyed with them. Except this one. Exactly why was unknown by the general population, but he knew. Oh, yes. This Relay was special. This Relay was spared because of where it led, and what waited on the other side.

Staring at its crimson luminescence calmed him. He could almost hear its gyroscopic rings waving across the red core, holding in its immeasurable power, millennia old. Yes, Azrael was just one man, no match for them regardless of what he knew. He would just have to be cautious, and hadn't he been that all along?

He bowed his head at the Relay and offered it his prayers.

* * *

**Garrus**

The tracks the sniper left behind were fading. His visor could pick up certain signatures, like heat, moisture, and airborne particle disturbance, but all of that gradually disappeared over time. And the metal ground of Omega didn't leave much visual evidence for him to follow. They had to be quick.

"I know this place," Benaka said behind him. "This leads to the Blood Pack headquarters."

Why would a turian sniper be working with the Blood Pack? "You worked with them once, didn't you?"

"Yes. Technically, I still do. Membership in the Blood Pack is considered to be for life, though that just means they kill most who try to leave."

"Did they hire any turians?"

"Occasionally they would hire freelance mercenaries via proxy, to poke at the Blue Suns or spy on someone or other. Turians working for the Blood Pack don't usually know it. I don't know why this one would be special, but times have changed since I was last. . .active in the organization." She shrugged her massive shoulders. "Who knows? Maybe they've gotten truly desperate."

His omni-tool beeped, and he stopped short. The call came from the same omni-tool Solana had used before. He answered it immediately.

"Sol?"

"Hey, big brother," came his sister's voice; tired, but smiling, safe. His sigh of relief contained the strength in his legs, and as he let it out he could feel himself less and less able to stand. He sat right there, on the hard ground, the footprints completely forgotten. His squad stared at him. He didn't care.

"Are—"

"Yes, I'm all right, yes, I'm unharmed, and no, I'm not in any danger at the moment. Sorry; just got done speaking with Dad. Are _you_ okay?"

He released a puff of air meant to be a laugh. Spirits, but it was good to hear her again. "I'm fine. Where are you?"

". . ."

The last time they spoke, she got cut off. He sat up, nervous again. "Sol?"

"I'm still here, Garrus. I just. . .can't answer your question right now."

So she _was_ being monitored. They would cut her off again if she gave away any pertinent information about their whereabouts. They would be unlikely to let her talk again. Probably shouldn't mention that he was hired to find Archangel.

"Okay. But you're safe?"

"Yes. Garrus. . .you should know. . .where I am, I can leave whenever I want. I'm not being kept against my will or anything."

Sometimes, there are things that, once heard, create such an amalgamation of feelings and emotions that the person hearing it could only express themselves in a single, inadequate word. For Garrus, that single word was: "What?"

Solana followed up with a long explanation of what had happened, where she'd been, who she was with (omitting critical details like names or her current whereabouts), and how she planned to stay despite all of it, despite the worry he felt or anything else. He barely heard any of it. Later, he could never really remember what she said.

When the capacity for polysyllabic speech returned to him, he interrupted her mid-sentence. "Are you _insane_?!"

Her words cut off like water from a faucet.

"I've been—no, _we've_ been, me, Dad and Mom, and John—we've all been worried sick about you, not knowing if you were even alive, I came to this hellhole looking for you, I _shot_ a guy—"

"Garrus—"

"These people aren't who you think they are, Sol! I've seen what they do firsthand!"

"So have I," she responded, her voice indignant. "You called Omega a hellhole, well, they're trying to make it better! And you know what? They actually could! Free from the mercenaries—"

"Free from the mercs just so they could enslave them themselves! I spoke to the leader of the Talons—"

"The Talons are just as bad as the rest of them! Did their _glorious leader_ mention their shiploads of red sand imports, or their—"

"No, he only mentioned the torture and intimidation he faced at the hands of Archangel's men, men who _tried to kill me,_ I'll have you know—"

"Well, what do you expect, going around shooting people like some jarhead—"

"Dad _collapsed_ because of you!"

There was immediate silence. His words, the wrong words, the wrongest words: _because of,_ lingered in an echo that bounced across Omega and out into space for the whole galaxy to hear.

"Sol, I—"

"Dad. . .what?"

"You said you spoke to him. . ."

"I did, but. . .he didn't say anything to me. . ."

Garrus sighed. "Right after we learned you were gone, he collapsed in the hospital. He's all right, but. . .hell, Sol, he literally worried himself sick. He'd be here with me otherwise, looking for you."

"And since when do you care?"

"What—"

"Do you think he didn't worry about _you_ when you fought with him tooth and talon on the Presidium, or when you left your job and up and disappeared for a year, leaving him and me to care for Mom? Speaking of, since when did you care about Mom?"

He felt like he had the bandage on his face again, mere days after the rocket seared the epidermic plating off the right side of his face and took some of the lower skin layer along with it, his every facial movement—every smile, every laugh, every godforsaken cough or sneeze—bringing incomparable agony. . .and his sister just slapped him right on that spot. He prepared for backlash for his comment—he would even admit to deserving it—but this was too much. If she saw him, she likely would have stopped right there, maybe even repented for going too far.

But she couldn't see him. So she continued.

"You were never around to take care of her. Me and Dad always managed to find time to see how she was doing, but not you, oh no! You had your fucking girlfriends and trips and whatever else! If you actually spent any time with her, maybe you wouldn't have been so shocked when she said she wants to die!"

He couldn't hear this. He almost told her everything: _I'm the original Archangel, idiot! Mom's only alive because of the Collector tissue I donated, dumbass!_ But he remembered they were on an insecure line, which only made him angrier; none of this was anyone else's business. "How dare you," he said. "Mom's never been anything but a case study for you! You don't remember her before she got sick, you don't remember how I had to stop my whole life to join C-Sec, which I never wanted, but I did it so you could do what you want! You don't know what I've done for Mom, and for you. You don't know _anything,_ Sol; you're a spoiled little daddy's girl who wants to go on an adventure and you're just gonna get your stupid ass killed! _That'll_ show me who really cares here!"

". . .Forget it, Garrus. I'm not leaving."

"Whatever. Do what you want."

He hung up. Thirty minutes ago he was worried sick over her safety and whereabouts; now he didn't give a fuck. Well, he did, but she should have understood that. He turned and walked back the way he came, pulling off his visor. He ignored the awkward gazes of his squad as he passed them by.

"Where are you going?" Lutis asked. "The job's not finished."

At that moment, he decided he liked Lutis. The man was insufferably arrogant, but he knew his duty well, and wouldn't let something as petty as a family squabble get in the way of that. Garrus wished he could be like that. He wished he could be a lot of things that he wasn't. He ignored Lutis, ignored Zaeed asking about his job now that Solana's been (somewhat) found, ignored the people he passed on the way back to his ship, ignored the vorcha who guarded it (even they knew better than to press him at that moment), and ignored the voice in his head that told him to be reasonable as he lifted off and left.

As he made his trip back to Jamone, he imagined he was chasing a ship christened the _SSV Because Of,_ which floated just ahead of him no matter how fast he went, piloted by some malevolent, cackling spirit. He'd never catch up to it.

* * *

**Solana**

She stared at her omni-tool for a long, long few minutes, the silence on the other end as vast and empty as the space between worlds.

She would not cry. Hurt as she was by what Garrus said to her, she was surprised to feel just as hurt by what she said to him. Did he feel the same way? She hoped so. It wouldn't be right for just her to suffer from this conversation. But she said nothing that was untrue, she was sure of it. For that, she would not cry. Garrus used to hold her against his chest as she cried, when they were younger. She missed those ignorant days so much.

She began to dial her father again, planning to give him holy hell for not telling her about his condition. She stopped before typing the last number. He collapsed because he worried about her. He didn't tell her because he didn't want her to worry about him. If she let him know she was worried about him, he would worry all the more about her in return, and the last thing he needed was more worry. Oh, spirits, she told him she was staying!

A door opened in front of her, and she realized she had been walking back to base, taking no notice at all of her surroundings or even what was in front of her eyes. She closed the omni-tool and quickened her pace. The elevator was blessedly empty.

She came out into the hall, walked quickly past the guards into the large common room. From there it was just a quick turn around a corner and she'd be in her room, alone and undisturbed.

Drineax sat on a sofa in the center of the room, reading a datapad in his civvies; it was the first time she saw him out of armor. He stood up when she entered. _Oh, no. Please. Please don't._ But he did: he walked into her path, inadvertently blocking her way to her room.

"Hey," he said, infuriatingly cheery as ever. Had he been the one listening to her conversation with Garrus? Was this his fucked-up way of teasing her about it? No, he was reporting to Archangel at the time. He couldn't have listened in.

"Well, we wrapped everything up with the Big Guy, and I gotta say, we got off surprisingly easy."

She nodded at him a couple of times, then fell against his chest and cried.


	14. Fond and Faded Memories

**John**

"Shepard. Open your eyes."

Lanira's voice came from far away, like when his mother woke him up from a dream to go to school as a child. When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing. Complete blackness enveloped him; he held a hand up in front of his face and couldn't see it. For a split second, he panicked, the thought that he was alone and trapped in an infinite void invading his mind.

Then the galaxy appeared.

The Milky Way expanded from a singular point, its spiral arms growing out from a radiant yellow-white center, the entire galaxy coming to rest mere feet in front of him. He stretched out a hand and it passed through a cluster of thousands of stars and planets.

"I know what this is," he said to himself.

Lights flashed, but his eyes didn't burn or turn away, and there was no adjustment period for what he saw: he was standing in the Normandy's Combat Information Center, the holographic galaxy map floating peacefully at the front of the command deck in the middle of the room. He turned around. The CIC's only other occupant was Lanira, standing near the yeoman's terminal, looking around with passive interest, like a parent looks at a museum exhibit with their child who's gaping in amazement.

"So this is the Normandy," she said. "I've seen vids of the inside, but being here is something else altogether."

He stepped down from the deck. The heavy thud of his footsteps made him check his own feet. He was in his old Alliance uniform, boots and all. He hadn't fit in those clothes for a long time, but despite no change in his physique, he was comfortable.

"How—?"

Lanira smiled, like the parent explaining that the dinosaur behind the glass wasn't _really_ alive. "We're not actually in the Normandy, of course. Think of this place as a safety zone in your mind. You constructed it; the Normandy is clearly a very meaningful place for you. From here, we'll be able to access your most crucial memories."

"Like following a Relay network from a central starting point?"

"Yes, that's a good analogy. We'll need to return to this central point before we can break the bond that links us together."

He walked along the CIC, feeling the empty leather chairs where navigators sat. The computer terminals were on, but their holographic projections didn't show anything legible. The only clear image was the galaxy map in the center, slowly spinning along its course just like the real thing had done.

"This is. . .well, amazing. It's quite a nostalgia kick. But how does this help me go through my memories?"

"That depends on you. You are the commander of this ship; I'm just a passenger." She looked at the elevator doors behind her. "Sometimes we associate our memories with certain places. If the Normandy has different rooms and compartments, then perhaps you could try exploring them."

It had been a long time since he set foot on the Normandy, but he knew every inch of the ship by heart. The CIC was the ship's second deck. Up the elevator was the Captain's Cabin, on the first deck. The third was the Crew Deck, the fourth was Engineering, and the lowest deck was the Shuttle Bay. What kind of memories would he associate with those places, besides the events that actually happened within them?

"I'd hate to see what we'll find in the bathroom," he said.

Lanira shrugged. "You'd be surprised. So, where first?"

"Is this actually going to help, or do you just want a tour of the Normandy?"

"I firmly believe this will help. The tour is just an added bonus!"

He walked around the galaxy map toward the bridge, his boots clanking against the metal floor, Lanira following close behind. The door to the pilot's cabin was closed, as it had always been, the green lock glowing faintly at the center. He pressed the lock, and the door opened. He expected to see Joker in his chair, perhaps with EDI, still alive, sitting next to him, the two trading jokes or ruminating over the meaning of organic existence.

But when the doors opened, he didn't see the pilot's cabin at all. Instead, he saw a world.

They stepped out onto a large outdoor platform. The Normandy was gone, replaced by a sweeping vista of homes and plains. It seemed to be a small human colony. Smoke billowed around them.

A Reaper rose into the distant atmosphere, its arthropodal body blocking the sun.

He had a sudden moment of panic, then a blue hand gently rested on his shoulder. "It's just a memory," Lanira said calmly.

He allowed himself to relax somewhat and watch the scene unfold before him. He heard footsteps from behind.

Ashley, Kaidan and a younger version of himself came running up in his direction. He didn't have time to duck out of the way, so he braced for impact, holding up his hands and planting his feet. Instead of tumbling right into him, the three just phased through him, like he was a holographic VI program; he didn't even feel a rush of air as they passed.

He remembered this now. He was back on Eden Prime, before he even knew what a Reaper was, before he was made a Spectre. Somewhere in the docks behind them lay the body of Nihlus Kryik, and before them, in the Reaper known as Sovereign, was his killer, Saren Arterius.

"This is. . .so surreal," he said.

"So what are we seeing?" Lanira asked. He forgot that she wasn't a part of these memories. She wouldn't know what was going on.

"We're on Eden Prime," he said. "2183. This was my first mission as a Spectre candidate." He looked at Sovereign as it loomed higher and higher into the atmosphere, nothing but an imposing ship to him back then. "Things went badly."

There was a flash of light. The Prothean beacon activated before them. Ashley Williams shouted as she was pulled toward it. John, the younger version, jumped in and pulled her back, throwing her into Kaidan's arms as he got pulled in by the beacon instead.

"I thought it would kill me," he told Lanira.

"What did it do?"

The beacon pulled John in, lifting him off the ground. His head jerked back as if it was being pulled, then the world shifted into a series of terrifying images and incomprehensible sounds, warnings to the future of the Reaper invasion. Lanira, her turn to be terrified, jumped and stood closer to John as they watched the images unfold: desert landscapes that were once thriving cities, monsters writhing out of containment pods, statues of long-extinct creatures dotting temples overgrown with foliage. The images flashed one after the other in quick, random succession; he wouldn't learn their true meanings for a long time yet.

Then the flashes were over, and the darkness faded away until they were standing in the Normandy's bridge, alone.

"That was. . ." Lanira said breathlessly.

"Yeah," John replied. "It really was."

"I don't even know what to think of it."

"It was a warning." She looked at him, surprised that he knew and she didn't. "The Protheans created that beacon fifty thousand years ago to warn us about the Reapers. But they had a different concept of language than we do. I didn't understand the warning until it was almost too late."

"How did you come to understand it at all?"

He began to answer, but stopped. His mind drew a blank. "I. . .don't remember." He knew it was important, but he just couldn't remember how they learned the beacon's secrets. "Oh, god, I don't remember. I think we had help from someone, but. . ."

"Hmm." Lanira the professional was back, trying to consider. He hoped for an explanation, but none came. "We should keep going," she said. "There may be a clue in your other memories about this."

This confirmed his fears: he not only forgot certain facts, but people as well. He had some sort of horrifying condition that was slowly erasing his life. Selective amnesia? Early-onset Alzheimer's? What was he going to do?

What was Garrus going to do?

He tried to focus his attention on the task at hand. He had to. He'd faced far worse than this.

He led Lanira across the bridge and back into the CIC. He considered taking the elevator, but there was more on this deck to explore. He turned left and entered through a series of doors leading through a small conference desk. Apparently he hosted no important memories in these places, but beyond another wide set of doors lay the War Room.

When they stepped through, they were in a penthouse suite. The massive living room stretched before them, as big alone as some apartments, with views of a city skyline partially disrupted by construction and flying traffic; repairs from Reaper damage. John and Lanira stood in the center of this room as the door opened and John—post-War this time, judging by the longer hair and added weight—walked in. When the door shut, Garrus stepped out of a bedroom.

"Oh, crap," John said to Lanira. He remembered this, and he knew why it was associated with the War Room. He didn't want Lanira to see this.

"Welcome back," Garrus said to Memory-John. He took his husband of about twenty-one months into his arms.

"Can we, uh, skip this one?" John said to Lanira.

Of course, she shook her head. "We have to stay until it's done. Does it get, ah, personal from here?"

"You could say that." It wasn't personal like she was thinking, but still. It was something not covered in their public life.

Garrus had made dinner that day, cooking various turian dishes and trying his best with human ones. Cooking had never been his strong suit, but he devoted a large amount of effort into learning the craft. On the human side, there was a slightly burnt chicken sprinkled with garlic, parsley, and other spices, with mashed potatoes and asparagus on the sides. The turian foods, all meat of course, looked like some kind of fish covered in a red spice. And, of course, there was wine.

"What's all this?" Memory-John asked.

"I just felt like trying something new," Garrus lied. John knew it was a lie because of what would happen later. Back then, he only suspected.

They sat at an ornate table in the dining room, oblivious to their audience of two. Garrus kept asking John how it tasted, and John kept telling him it was delicious, though he took a sip of wine with every bite of chicken.

Garrus produced an omni-pad from under the table. "Did you know Wrex just had his twenty-seventh kid? Twenty-seven!"

Memory-John laughed. "Sounds like he's making up for lost time. I bet Grunt's got a few of his own."

_He's trying to give you a hint, stupid._ Hindsight was 20/20.

"Yeah," Garrus said hesitantly. "Can you imagine? Those two as parents? Ha, if they can do it, anyone can."

"Ah," Lanira said, understanding. Even she got it before John had. Now that was embarrassing. Memory-John, blissfully oblivious, nodded with his mouth full and continued eating. Garrus dropped the conversation for the moment to finish his meal.

"So," Lanira said. "This is about two years into your marriage?"

"Yes."

"And at this point, have the two of you ever really discussed. . .?"

John sighed. "Garrus. . .wants kids."

"And you don't."

"And I don't. I thought I made it clear before we got married. . .I mean, we joked and all, and I always said there was no way in hell, but. . ." He couldn't really remember when he and Garrus had a serious conversation about children, but he was sure they did at some point. Well, they were definitely about to.

Garrus and Memory-John finished their dinner. Garrus got up first, taking both of their plates and silverware and washing them in the kitchen. Memory-John went up behind Garrus as he washed, stood on the balls of his feet to reach Garrus' ear. "You're up to something," he said in his most suspicious voice.

"Who, me?" Garrus responded innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Memory-John stopped his nuzzling. "I didn't forget something, did I? Let me think, our anniversary isn't for a few months, it's not your birthday, it's not your dad's birthday. . ."

Garrus squirmed away, chuckling. "I wouldn't make you dinner if you forgot something. Make you _into_ dinner, maybe." He broke eye contact for a moment. "Let's go sit down."

They moved onto a sofa, far too large for the two of them, in the living room. Garrus wrapped an arm around Memory-John's shoulder and opened his datapad.

"There's this group I've been researching," Garrus started. "It's called Youth United. Ever hear of them?"

"Rings a bell," Memory-John said. "But I can't say I remember anything about them."

"Well, they provide a bunch of services for mixed-race couples. . .and their children. Legal services, networking, events. Adoption services."

It was at this point that Memory-John, dense as he was, finally started to get the hint. The mood of the entire room shifted in three seconds flat.

"So I was thinking," Garrus said quickly, "maybe it's time, you know, to start planning?"

"Planning?" Memory-John asked.

"For a family."

Memory-John was silent for a long moment. Garrus, feeling the tension, spoke up again.

"I know we're busy and all, but things'll settle down soon. We're rich enough that we'll never have to be away from them, and they'll never have anything to worry about. I mean, if it's a turian then I want them to join the military, but. . ."

"Garrus," Memory-John said, puffing out a nervous laugh. "Um, why do we. . .I mean, we already are a family! Right?"

"Well, of course, but—"

"So why add another to that?"

"It's not that I'm not happy or anything. It's just. . .we're in our thirties, we've got our whole lives before us, and, well, I want to be a parent. I want my parents to be grandparents before it's too late."

"Not a lot of what I want in there," Memory-John grumbled.

John looked at Lanira and made a pushing motion; the snowball was now rolling. The next hour (though it didn't feel like it to watch it) was occupied by long tirades, insults toward individuals and entire species, and, on John's part, more than a few words toward Garrus' father. Twice Garrus stomped off snarling into another room, only to emerge minutes later with a new argument or retort to an old argument, while Memory-John, completely unused to this, responded with Marine-commander brashness that only fueled the argument even more: " _I'm not your fucking_ _ **subordinate**_ ," Garrus would yell. " _And I'm not your fucking_ _ **father**_ _,"_ John would reply.

When it was finally over, Memory-John made his escape through the door, leaving Garrus to go upstairs and slam the door into the bedroom, the dinner left cold and forgotten. The memory faded away, and then John and Lanira were standing in the Normandy's silent War Room.

"That was our only major fight," John said, not looking at Lanira. He was embarrassed; that day hadn't been an example of his finest behavior. "Dumbass."

"Garrus?" Lanira asked.

"No, the other guy. I mean, we've argued about other stuff, sure, but it was always stupid shit, you know? One of us would see sense and give in and it would be over in a few minutes. Every couple fights like that at some point, right?"

"I'd say it's pretty normal behavior. How did that fight end?"

"I came back a few hours later and we kissed and made up. But I don't think the fight really ended. . .I think we just put it on indefinite hiatus. I think we're both hoping for the other guy to change his mind, but we're too terrified to bring it up again. We made a rule, that we'd never fight like that in the future. I should have made my stance on children crystal clear before we got married. I should've. . .but it wouldn't have changed anything, would it? It's not like I wouldn't have married him over this. I can't imagine being with anyone else."

The War Room was empty. A holographic image of the Crucible used to occupy the center, complete with update progress reports and real-time construction efforts by every known species in the galaxy (except for the raloi), but now the image was turned off, the Crucible a dead relic floating above the Earth like a second moon.

He led Lanira back out into the CIC. This time they took the elevator up to the Captain's Cabin. As they rode it up, John reminisced about the long, awkward elevator rides on the Citadel.

"Being in a small moving box with a turian and a krogan could make for interesting conversations," he said. "But the smell. . ."

The elevator let them out into a small corridor. Up a few steps was the door into the Cabin. He stopped at the foot of the steps. Staring up at the door, which now appeared dark and menacing to him, he had a feeling that he knew what memory he would find there. He didn't want to relive it ever again.

"Do I have to?" He whispered. He felt like a child too scared to go to the doctor.

"No," Lanira said, completely honest. "But I can't help you if you don't. It's your choice."

Maybe he was wrong, and it wouldn't be so bad. If he was lucky, they'd walk into a memory of him and Garrus making love and he'd just be embarrassed. That certainly wouldn't be an out-of-place memory in that cabin. Steeling himself for whatever was to come, he walked up the steps and opened the door. They stepped into the blackness, and the door closed behind them.

A few moments later the memory came into view, and his worst fear was realized.

They were outside. The view of the horizon was similar to that of Eden Prime, only there was no Reaper or destruction to be found here; only green, flat plains stretching out into distant peaks, the sun dangling in a peaceful blue sky. Around them were various domiciles, small homes for colonists and their families, a community of scientists and explorers studying a new planet. An arboretum stood to the west, its glass dome glinting in the sun, extraterrestrial botanical life of many varieties flourishing in the fertile alien soil. Several people walked by, their forms fuzzy and incomplete, like reflections in a dirty mirror.

"Why do they look like that?" John asked Lanira.

"These are people whose forms you've mostly forgotten. You can't remember every detail of every face you've ever seen, so your mind creates a vague image and stores that as memory instead of a more complete picture." She looked around, admiring the view. "Do you know where we are?"

"Yeah." _I'm home._ "I was born is Mindoir."

They weren't in the modern-day Mindoir, the one that was now a bustling galactic tourist attraction (" _Come see the exact spot where Commander Shepard was born!"_ ) with his likeness on their colonial seal. They were in the Mindoir of his childhood: a quiet, relatively new farming colony in the Attican Traverse. The community in which they stood comprised the entire human race on the face of the planet.

A teenage boy with long, dark hair ran past them, and the memory followed as though John and Lanira were on a conveyor belt.

"That's you?" Lanira asked.

John swallowed a couple of times. "Yeah."

Lanira looked at him, concerned. "Are you all right?"

He nodded. "This just isn't a happy memory for me. Is there any way we can go back?"

"I'm afraid not until the memory finishes."

Of course there'd be no way to avoid it. He assured himself that it was just a memory, that it lived inside his head for just over two decades and would be over quickly. No mere memory could ever match the actual experience, after all.

The memory stopped following the boy—John, at age sixteen—when he reached one of the residences, a standard colonist camper. The community was full of these, all identical in shape, size, and layout, yet each one personalized in different ways by their respective owners. Although he had a vague idea of what those differences were, he couldn't remember specific details about anything—except his own home. He remembered the large couch in the center of the living room, wrapped around in order for them all to view the large TV screen against the wall; he remembered the model ships and 3-D puzzles in his bedroom, assembled and displayed with great care; he remembered the lemon smell of disinfectant after the self-cleaning walls and floors finished decontamination in the evenings, a precaution in the event of any harmful alien microbes in the air. He remembered the exact placement of utensils in the kitchen, where his parents hung up certain decorations and family pictures, the password he used to enter the front door—his birthday, 41154. These sharp details stood out among the vague, fuzzy faces and blurry close-ups of faded memories.

"Andi!" Memory-John called once he was inside. His voice had nearly completed the transition from kiddy-squeak to manly-tenor, but it still cracked on occasion—usually the most embarrassing occasion. "Hey! You in here?"

His sister, Andromeda, appeared from her bedroom. She was a year older than John, her deep red hair tied behind her head in a ponytail, black roots exposing the dye. Her face's childhood freckles were fading away, but a few lingering specks still dotted her sharp nose and cheeks. He never really learned what she had been doing in her room that day.

"What's going on?" She said.

"McTurner says there are ships coming in."

"Okay? And?"

"And they aren't identifying themselves."

Andi rolled her eyes. It wasn't unheard of for a ship to bypass security protocol on a small colony. "They're probably just another shipment from Illium."

"Yeah," Memory-John replied. "But we gotta get to the shelter. Mom and Dad are already—"

A blaring alarm sounded from somewhere in the colony. Red lights flashed on and off in their home, warning of an invasion.

Mindoir was located in the Attican Traverse, then a dangerous section of the galaxy on the edge of Council-controlled space. Just beyond lay the Terminus Systems, and the batarians. Batarian raids on human colonies were rare, but not unheard-of, especially in the Traverse where military aid was limited. In sixteen years, John had never seen a batarian raid of his homeworld.

"Is that a drill?" Memory-John asked.

"They didn't schedule one for today," Andi replied, looking nervous. "John, let's get to the shelter."

He didn't argue with her sudden one-eighty shift in opinion. They left their home and quickly walked along the road, passing by other humans looking confusedly up at the sky. The alarm continued blaring, but nothing in the sky denoted any danger.

"It has to be a drill," Andi said, though she kept walking. The shelter was near the arboretum. A figure came running from that place, and as they got closer to the kids John could tell it was a woman with short blonde hair, her facial features somewhat fuzzy. After so many years and no surviving pictures of her, John couldn't remember exactly what his mother looked like. Or were her features just another of his memories suddenly lost to him? He couldn't tell anymore.

Their mother stopped and took a breath. "Where have you two been?" She said when she got her air.

"Do you know what's going on?" Memory-John asked.

"Batarian ships. We have to get—"

She didn't get to finish. An explosion erupted through the air like lightning, and suddenly the sky was crowded with military shuttles dumping armed and armored batarian mercenaries onto the ground.

"Let's go!" Andromeda grabbed their mother's arm in one hand and John's in the other, pulling them toward the shelter before they could even react.

"That was Andi," John said to Lanira. He watched the scene unfold before him, well aware of how it ended, but his heart beat faster in hopes for a good outcome regardless. "See how she just reacted without thinking, moving to help us just like that? She would have made a much better marine than I did."

"You lived up to her example admirably," Lanira said. It hit him hard, like it was exactly what he needed to hear.

He closed his eyes for most of the rest of it, though he still heard the three of them running to the shelter, only to see it destroyed by batarian forces with their father still inside; the voice of his mother telling the two of them to hide in a nearby unit while she ran off, distracting two batarians who eventually caught up to her, and his sister ordering him to stay put after the noise had finally died down and she went to check to see if everything was okay. Memory-John had watched her move into the arboretum, then watched as the arboretum was vaporized, along with everyone inside. He opened his eyes again just as the unit he was in fell apart on top of him, rubble pinning him to the ground and dust burning his eyes. He could see, through a few cracks in the rubble, inhuman footsteps prowling closer and closer, stopping for a long moment while he tried unsuccessfully not to whimper. One of the batarians bent down and spotted him between the cracks; his eyes met the monster's four black, empty irises. The batarian grinned, showing his sharp teeth, then he stood up and left as the boy in the rubble watched his footsteps, waiting to slowly die alone and afraid.

The memory finally ended, and the Captain's Cabin faded back into view. He sat down on the bed and gave himself a moment to gather his bearings in the peaceful familiarity of the cabin. Lanira stood nearby, staying quiet, apparently aware of the moment he needed.

When he was done, he took a deep breath and stood again. "So I guess that memory was in here because this is the top level of the ship," he said.

She nodded. "It makes sense. You've made many decision in here, and your experiences in this memory drive many of them. Although I would expect such a memory to be somewhere else, such as an engine room, you seem to have associated the level of the cabin with the importance of the memory." She paused a moment. "You went through much."

He nodded. "Yeah. And that was just the beginning." He looked into the empty fish tanks on the wall near his bed, the same one he and Garrus shared many times before. "Alliance military found me after about two hours under that rubble. There were a few other survivors, but most people were either killed or taken away to be made into slaves. I'm not sure who was luckier there. I had a few broken bones, but they healed well. I was put in foster care on Earth—they had this idea that foster kids would be better off on their 'home planet.' Earth was always too loud for me."

"Living in foster care must have been very difficult."

"More for them than for me. The first family got sick of me real quick, and the feeling was mutual; I was sixteen and wanted nothing to do with them. I skipped school, got into fights, and hated everyone in the galaxy. The second family tried their damndest, but they got fed up with me too. The third family was part of a hyper-religious sect who believed abusing kids was a gift from God; all I had to do was tell them I was gay and they dumped me instantly. My eighteenth birthday couldn't come soon enough."

"And that's when you joined the military?"

"Yeah. Funny thing: I hated the military more than the foster families. They were there during the raid, but they couldn't repel the batarians. I blamed them all for my family's deaths, and if I wasn't homeless and desperate, I probably still wouldn't have signed up. But I needed to eat, and that seemed the easiest route for me to take at the time." He turned toward the elevator again. "Let's get to the next one. At least it can't get worse."

They took the elevator to the Crew Deck, the Normandy's third level. He considered going straight to the main battery, but decided instead to turn toward the life support bay. Whatever memories they might find in there wouldn't be pleasant, but after reliving his childhood, he felt he could handle anything. Through the glass window he could see the equipment all set up in their proper places, Doctor Chakwas' empty chair neatly rolled under her desk. When the door opened, however, they entered the same old blackness.

At first, nothing happened. They waited for several moments, but nothing came into view. He was just about to ask Lanira what was wrong when a loud beeping sound echoed out of nowhere, a light, repeating noise that repeated at every one-second interval with no variation in pitch or tone.

"That sounds like a heart monitor," Lanira said.

An object slowly came into view, blurry and faded. It was a hospital bed, alone against the black, featureless background. Walking up to stand next to it, he saw himself. Even after the reconstructive surgery and the cleanings, he looked like hell, his face burned and body connected to all sorts of machines to help him function.

"I think I know this," he said, smiling.

Someone stepped into view of the bed, and knelt down next to it. It was Garrus, his eyes drooping heavily. He still limped a little back then, his broken leg in the process of healing from Harvester's attack.

"It's me again," Garrus said, looking at John. "I didn't leave, really. Just wanted to stretch my legs."

Memory-John didn't respond.

"So I've been thinking," Garrus continued. "Once you're on your feet again, we should go somewhere. Don't know where yet, but the Reapers haven't destroyed _every_ nice place in the galaxy, right? Heh, I'm sure there's some nice, warm island on some planet that's still quiet. We can leave the cleanup to Hackett and the others."

Still no response. Garrus wiped his nose.

"I spoke to _KRSHRSSH,_ " he said. Whatever name he said was faded out, like it was made of static. "She told me to tell you that she's sorry she couldn't be here, and all that. I guess she has a lot on her plate nowadays."

"What the hell was that?" John asked Lanira.

"I'm not sure," she said. "He must have said a name you don't remember. I've never seen anything like that, though."

Garrus stood up, pulled a chair in close. He sighed as he looked at the person in the bed. "I miss you, John. You'd better not die. After all you just did, and all the time we missed. . .you'd better not die." He leaned in and pressed his forehead against John's. "I love you," he said. "I waited too long to say that. I should have told you sooner. Not on that damn shuttle. Maybe I was scared of that then, but I'm not anymore. I love you. I'll tell you that every day if you just wake up. Okay?"

He held John's hand against the scarred side of his face. He didn't notice John's eyes flutter slightly. Soft, weak fingers lightly caressed Garrus' face, and he nearly dropped the hand when he saw John's eyes open slightly.

"—me," John said, his weak voice barely making it through his throat.

Garrus coughed out a relieved laugh, leaned in close. "What, John? I didn't hear you. Can you say that again?" He put his ear almost right to John's lips, but he was able to grasp what he said next.

"Marry me," John whispered again.

Garrus laughed again, tears running down his face. He nuzzled John's hand. "Yes," he said, over and over. "Yes. Of course I will."

The memory, what little of it there was, faded away, and they were in life support again. The machines were all off and quiet. He turned to Lanira. He expected her to have a pleasant demeanor at the sight of his engagement, kind of an "aww, that's so sweet" look. But instead, she seemed troubled.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I'm not sure," she said. "It would be better if I wait until I have more information. Something just wasn't right with that memory."

"You mean how there was no environment?"

"No, that's normal. You just came out of a coma and were barely aware of your surroundings at the time, so it's natural that your memory would only consist of the most important information available at that moment. What's wrong is. . .the timing."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't explain yet. I need more information first." She shook her head. "Anyway, that was a sweet memory. Much better than the others, in my opinion. When did this happen?"

"About three weeks after the Reapers died." The Citadel had been destroyed, with him on it, but large chunks of rubble fell through Earth's atmosphere and landed all over the world. He himself landed in Akureyri, Iceland. How he survived was a mystery to everyone, including himself; his suit was still mostly intact (it had fused against his skin where it melted), but he had no helmet, and fell literally thousands of kilometers through atmosphere onto solid ground. He should have been turned to dust, but he got out with a little coma and a lot of surgery.

All things considered, he was willing to shrug and accept the miracle.

Straight ahead from the elevator was the main battery, with escape shuttle pods lined up on either side of the hall. Thankfully, his 2189 crew never had to use those—unlike on the SR1.

"Garrus spent a lot of time in here," he said as they approached the door. "The main battery was like his own special project." He hoped he would find a pleasant memory inside.

When they entered, they were in the Normandy—not the main battery, but on the Command Deck. The room was crowded with people, but nobody made any noise, their rapt attention on the two figures on the stand in the center.

It was himself and Garrus, both in their finest suits, facing eachother and holding hands. The platform at the center had been modified to accommodate them both. Their faces touched together, and then the silence was destroyed by cheering and whistles.

It was their wedding day.

"Aww," Lanira said. Apparently this memory was enough to elicit that reaction from her. "I thought you were married on Earth?"

"We were, publicly. We had a second, more private wedding." Their wedding on Earth had been a monumental affair, with music and giant crowds and floating cameras broadcasting to whatever stations still operated in the galaxy. On the Normandy, however, their guests consisted of the crew, the music was light, and the drinks were heavy; there were no cameras and no fanfare blaring in their ears. Garrus' family attended, even his mother in a mobile bed; John gave them a tour of the Normandy.

The reception was held on the Crew Deck. Chairs had been set up to allow people to sit, and an awkwardly placed snack bar provided treats for Dextro- and Levo-amino species. John and Garrus sat together, eating a specially made cake that they could both consume safely, while guests lined up to give them gifts they both insisted not to bring.

Tali was first. Her environmental suit was decorated with a beautifully embroidered cloak that she tied around her shoulders. Her hands held something behind her back, and even though they couldn't see her face under her helmet, they could tell she was blushing.

"Congratulations, you two," she said. "I'm very happy for you both. Um. . .I got you something," she said sheepishly.

"You shouldn't have," Memory-John said, beaming like an idiot. It was the happiest day of his life, after all. "We really don't need any gifts."

"Although," Garrus interjected, "If you have a coupon for a couple of lap dances on Illium. . ."

Memory-John punched Garrus' shoulder, leaving a white cake stain on the turian's black suit. Neither of them cared.

Tali chuckled along with them. "Nothing like that," she said. "It's just. . .well. . ." She held out her hands, showing them what she brought.

"It's a rock," Memory-John said.

They took the rust-colored rock, which left little bits of dust in Tali's hands. They inspected it to see if there was something special about it, but there were no engravings or secret buttons or anything at all—it was all rock.

"It's kind of silly," Tali said, the blush in her voice. "But that's. . .I mean, you're both very special to me, and my people would never have set foot on the homeworld without your help, so. . .that's a piece of the ground where we first landed on Rannoch. The way I felt the first time I touched the homeworld. . .I wanted you to have a piece of that. It's silly."

They looked at the rock with a greater sense of reverence, then stood and hugged her. "That's so sweet of you, Tali," Memory-John said when they let go.

"Yeah," Garrus said. "We'll cherish it."

"We still have it," John said to Lanira as they watched the memory unfold.

Next up was Jack, her leather top the most formal clothing they had ever seen her wear. They hadn't expected her to show up at all, but she surprised them, as usual. She had a big grin on her face.

"I love weddings," she said giddily. "It's the only time you can drink in public and not be arrested for it. Oh, these are for you." She produced two boxes and handed one to each of them.

"Aw, thanks, Jack," Garrus said as they opened the boxes. "You didn't have to—"

They stared at the boxes. Memory-John's face turned bright red. Garrus whistled.

"I wasn't sure which species to get," Jack said, "so there's a human one for Garrus and a turian one for Shepard. Feel free to switch if you want. Oh, and there's a kickass vibration setting that'll rock your—"

"That's great, Jack," Memory-John said quickly, closing his box. "Thank you very much. We'll, uh, keep these somewhere safe. Right, Garrus?"

Garrus was still admiring the detail of his gift. He looked up and closed his box. "Uh, yeah. Thanks, Jack."

Lanira looked at John, puzzled. "What was it?" She asked.

He blushed and cleared his throat. "Oh, it's just a. . .you know, thing. . .let's keep watching."

One by one, the guests lined up to give their presents: some were practical, like a custom-ordered pistol Wrex gave Garrus, and some were more heartfelt, like Tali's rock. Joker did a comedy routine. "I just want you all to take a moment to appreciate the irony of me doing stand-up," Joker said, to laughs around the room.

Memory-John and Garrus accepted each one with a "Thank you" and a "You shouldn't have." John recognized everyone in the line, except for one person who was completely blurred out.

"I can't remember that one," he said, pointing to the wobbly image. He couldn't even make out their species. "Why them and nobody else here?"

"I'm not sure," Lanira said.

The blurred person reached Memory-John and Garrus with their gift. They said something, but their words were muffled out, like static.

"Thanks, _KRSHRSSH,_ " Memory-John said. "We've missed you."

"This is strange," Lanira said quietly. "It's like that person was specifically taken out of your memories."

"How could that happen?" John asked. "Could someone reach in and delete specific memories?"

"It's possible, with enough experience. I could do it, in theory, though it's too risky a technique. I've never done it with anyone. Most asari don't have the know-how to do it, and besides, it's extremely illegal to tamper with someone's memories."

The blurred image turned, then stopped. Although he couldn't see their face, John could swear that they were looking _directly at them._ Then the memory ended abruptly, spitting them back out in the Normandy's main battery.

"Now this is creepy," he said.

"I can feel someone here," Lanira said. "It's coming from. . .this way."

She led him out of the main battery and into the Crew Deck, which now stood quiet and empty. Turning right at the end of the hall, Lanira led John to a room he remembered being on the ship, but he couldn't remember its purpose.

"Whatever's tampering with your memories is in there," Lanira said. "I've never felt anything like this. I have no idea what we'll find."

He straightened up and took a breath. This was _his_ mind, damn it, and only he made the rules in it. He wanted to know who was messing with him, and, just as importantly, why. They stepped through the doors.

The other rooms were an indistinguishable black from the moment they entered. This time, however, he could immediately discern light emanating from several screens ahead. The room they were in was dark and held no other features.

John approached the screens. They were layered above a massive console. Some of the screens only displayed static, but most were playing random vids. He recognized one of the vids as the attack on Mindoir. Another one played his wedding. A third simply showed him driving the Mako. Dozens and dozens of screens played scenes like these over and over again, like a record stuck on a loop.

"These are my memories," he said, wondering at the console. "What. . .Lanira?"

For the first time, he noticed that she wasn't there with him. The door he had just walked through was gone, with the room stretching off into infinite blackness in every direction.

"Aww," said a voice. "I liked that one."

John spun around. An asari was standing at the console, looking at one of the static screens, but it wasn't Lanira. She turned to look directly at him and smiled.

"Hello, Shepard. I'm surprised to see you here."

Her voice was very soft and youthful, but her smiling eyes looked tired. He felt like he should know this person, but he didn't.

"Who. . .?"

She shook her head. "It's okay that you don't remember me. In fact, I made sure of it." She looked at the computer screens again. They swiveled to face her, as if they were attuned to her gaze. "Frankly, I didn't expect to have this conversation."

"You've been tampering with my memories."

"No," she said, then paused. "Well, yes, sort of. But only to help keep them alive a little longer." One of the screens blinked, and went static. What had been playing on it? He couldn't remember. The asari looked at it sadly. "I'm afraid it's not working. There's not much time left." She turned her gaze back to him. "Shepard, I'm very sorry about all of this. Find Admiral Hackett and tell him Liara sent you. He'll understand what to do."

"What's going on? Why are you here?"

"I'll explain when we meet again," she said. "Until then, Shepard."

The world exploded with light, and he felt himself thrown through the air, away from the console and the asari woman, out of the Normandy and into space. . .

He opened his eyes, his stomach lurching from the sudden cessation of motion. He was in Lanira's office, sitting on the same chair he occupied when they entered his memories. Lanira paced back and forth in front of him, chewing her cuticles in a very human fashion. She stopped when she saw him, a piece of nail hanging from her finger.

"Oh, thank the goddess," she said. "Are you okay? We lost connection somehow. I thought you had. . ."

He quickly stood up, then sat back down when his stomach alerted him to the inadvisability of that particular course of action. "I need to talk to Hackett," he said when he no longer felt like vomiting.

Lanira looked at him sharply. "What does Hackett have to do with anything?"

John told her about what he saw, about the asari apparently living in his head. Lanira shook her head when he mentioned what she said about Hackett.

"I knew it. I knew. . .listen, Shepard. Hackett told me to send him all the details of your sessions with me."

"What? But I thought you said this was confidential!"

"I know it's wrong, but I. . .no, I suppose I had a choice. It doesn't matter now. Whatever's going on with you, I believe Hackett has the answers. You should go see him as soon as possible."

He didn't have time to care about Lanira's breach of ethics. Too many questions spun in his mind, begging to be answered. "The memory of my engagement with Garrus—what did you find wrong with it?"

"It's strange, but. . .when I observe a client's memories, I can go all the way back to their very first memory. And each memory along the way has a certain subconscious signature I can pick up on, like a timestamp. That memory had the signature of a first memory. But we saw memories from when you were a child, so that couldn't be possible. That's why I don't know what to think of it."

A first memory that occurred late in his life, an asari he couldn't remember living in his memories, and a man he respected more than anyone else alive hiding an entire conspiracy against him. What the hell was going on?

He thanked Lanira for the information.

"Shepard?"

He turned at her door.

"Good luck. And I'm sorry."

He nodded, then left. No longer concerned about public opinion, he ignored the gaping stares of people as he bolted straight out of the building and to the nearest off-world shuttle. He was going to get some answers.


	15. One Last Shot

**Garrus**

He reached Jamone in record time, but as he stepped off the shuttle, he felt like he'd been flying for days. The green-tinted atmosphere instantly enveloped him in its humid embrace. Although the medical care was their primary reason for choosing Jamone, the salarian planet also reminded his family of Palaven, if it weren't crowded and half-destroyed. He walked to the hospital his parents currently called home, avoiding the lingering few paparazzi at the front door, which beeped pleasantly as he walked through.

His omni-tool beeped. It was John calling. He instinctively moved his fingers to answer, stopped, then dismissed the call.

He took a deep breath outside his parents' room, then he entered.

His father was on his feet, dressed in his civvies, standing in front of the massive window with another turian. It was Councilor Sparatus. Pallin's head hung low, and though he stood perfectly still, his hands fidgeted behind his back. Neither of them noticed Garrus.

"Well," Sparatus said, "think about it. There's still plenty of time, anyway." They turned around. Pallin started slightly when he saw Garrus. Sparatus nodded, which Garrus quickly returned. _Obstinate barefaced bastard._ He felt the feeling was probably mutual.

"Garrus," Pallin started. "Why are you—?"

Garrus shook his head. "Later. Please." It was good to see his father on his feet again, but he couldn't find the will to talk to anyone at the moment. He ignored Sparatus' farewell and pulled up a chair next to his mother. She was asleep. Her body didn't change, aside from her closed eyes, but after so many years, he could tell when she slept and when she was awake. He leaned back in his chair and waited until he, too, slept.

* * *

 

**Solana**

The first time Drineax ever seemed truly confused was when Solana cried into his chest. The moment lasted only a minute, and she didn't care how he felt, anyway; if he had only left her alone, she could be in the privacy of her room. His arms hung awkwardly in the space between a hug and a push, and his eyes darted everywhere in the room except at her.

"Um. . .uh. . ." He gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and then stepped back, leaving her to dry her face. When she did, she stood straight and stoic as possible.

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't worry about it?" He cleared his throat. "That felt random, from my point of view. What happened?"

"Nothing," she answered a little too quickly.

"Well, all right then. Personally, I find nothing happening to be a good occasion."

She considered how much she should tell him. Her family issues were none of his business, or anyone else's, for that matter. But her family was also at the center of the largest cult of personality in history; everyone in the galaxy knew things about the Vakarians that none of them had any right to know. That fact made it hard to justify keeping secrets, even personal ones. She decided to tread lightly, but tread all the same.

"It's just family stuff," she said.

"Ahh." Drineax sat down. "That's the worst kind of stuff. Let me tell you something.You know, I didn't exactly have an _ideal_ childhood. My parents fought all the time, and it was usually my dad who instigated it. Always over the most inconsequential bullshit: dinner was slightly overcooked, I didn't speak loud enough, or maybe a vid wouldn't play right, and he'd flip the fuck out and escalate the issue into something far beyond what it was. It made my mother obsessive over the slightest little things, and that made me a nervous wreck for most of my childhood."

She listened carefully. "How did you cope with it?"

 He just shrugged. "Anyway, I got away from all of that—haven't seen them in years, don't care to again—found religion, lost it again, and eventually I taught myself not to worry so much about stuff. 'Don't freak out' became my motto. But even though I improved my own mental health through the years, I had another problem: I stopped caring about things that really did matter. I barely allowed myself to notice the Reaper War. I joined the Blue Suns for the money, not for any noble pursuit of justice or whatever they think they do. Then I got wrapped up with Archangel, and suddenly I found a certain balance that never existed for me. My point with all of this is, working here will help you. It won't solve your family's problems, but you'll have a whole different way of looking at them; maybe it's just that the things we deal with here make all other problems pale in comparison, but whatever it is, Archangel can help you too. If you let him. Then you can stop randomly crying on weird guys' shoulders."

She thought about that. Had that been what happened to Garrus after working for Shepard? After the first attack on the Citadel, Garrus had seemed completely changed, more mature and focused, albeit still rebellious toward their father.

Could Archangel help her?

"You should get some sleep," Drineax said. "I'm sure Gavorn's gonna make you work tomorrow."

She nodded. Arguing with Garrus and breaking down afterward took most of her remaining day's energy anyway. She turned to go to bed.

"Hey," Drineax said. "One more thing."

She turned back to him. He stood. "I'm not. . ." He sighed. "I'm not interested in relationships," he said quickly. He looked at everything in the room but her as he spoke.

She blinked. "What? I'm not. . .I never. . .The crying was just a thing. It happened. That's all."

"Oh. Oh! So that. . .oh. Okay. That's good. Just, you know, making sure."

"I'm not interested in you at all."

"Okay, good. That's. . ."

"You _kidnapped_ me for the love of—"

"Okay, well, I think I get the point. . ."

"Not to mention you're insane."

He held up his hands. "Okay already! I just wanted to make sure everything was good. It's not like I'm used to women crying in my chest."

"Well, good."

"But if you ever wanted to. . ."

It was her turn to hold up her hands. "End of conversation! Good night."

* * *

 

**Garrus**

He woke up with a stiff neck and aching back. Falling asleep hunched over on a chair could do that, he'd learned with too much experience. He stood slowly, craning his neck in his hand as he straightened his reluctant spine. Sunlight eked through the shades. His mother slept still. His father's bed was empty.

He checked his mother's readings before leaving the room. The hospital was calm, with staff walking past him on their way to whatever. To his left, his father limped along, holding his hand up to the wall to keep himself steady.

Garrus approached. "Need help?"

"No." His breath was short and quick, like he had recently finished running.

"You sure?"

"I can walk, damn it."

Garrus held up his hands in surrender. "Okay."

"They make me do this, you know. I have to walk laps around the wing. It's torture."

"They tell me you do it too much. You should be in bed."

Pallin shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Why was Sparatus here earlier?"

Pallin stopped his laborious walking. "Nothing. Just visiting."

Garrus looked at him closely. "You're lying."

"Yes. But it doesn't matter right now. We'll talk about it later. What about Solana?"

Garrus sighed. "She's fine."

"Now who's lying?"

A human nurse brushed past them and nearly knocked Pallin over. Garrus grabbed for him, but Pallin waved him away. They got back to their walk, slowly heading for their room. Once Pallin was sitting in his bed, the VI of Garrus' mother blinked awake.

"Garrus?" The hologram enquired. "What are you doing here? Is Solana with you?"

He shook his head. "She's all right, but. . .I couldn't get her to leave."

"What do you mean? If you had to knock her unconscious and drag her here—"

"I never saw her, mom, and even if I did—"

"If you never saw her, how do you know she is all right?"

He was getting very sick of being interrupted. But his mother was the one person in the galaxy—above anyone, even John—who he wouldn't snap at.

"We talked, and. . .just trust me, okay?"

She didn't respond, so he sat next to her and busied himself by adjusting her sheets, checking her vitals, asking if she was comfortable. He thought about his group on Omega. Zaeed was still there, probably still billing him for the time. He wondered if they were still looking for that sniper, or if they all just gave up and went back to Aria.

_Aria!_

No way in hell was Aria going to pay him now. His mother's operation wasn't going to happen. He let that fact sink in. She was going to die. Inches away from him, and she was going to die. Even if that was what she wanted, he felt like he had failed one of the most important missions of his life.

"I'm sorry," he said to her. "I've been. . .a terrible son."

"That is not true," she said.

"I never wanted to accept it. I was so scared when you were diagnosed. I ran, and I wouldn't accept it. I left Solana to take care of you."

"Take my hand, Garrus."

He picked up her light, frayed hand in his, holding it like a bundle of fragile twigs.

"Now slap yourself with it."

A laugh puffed out through his depression. His mother's VI continued to speak, but he looked only at her unblinking eyes.

"You have been strength for me my whole life, even before Corpalis. But you are not a pillar for someone else to lean on, any more than your father or sister. And I have leaned on you all for long enough. You are the reason I have lasted so long, Garrus, and never believe otherwise."

He put her hand on his scarred cheek, gently opening her fingers. “You think _you_ leaned on _us_?” All at once the injustice of the situation hit him again: that this amazing woman, who suffered through so much, should just die and it all be so pointless, and while believing herself to be a burden. . .he couldn’t let it happen. His very spirit rebelled against the idea. But how could he convince her to keep going? How would John do it?

No--how would Commander Shepard do it?

"I. . .have to tell you something. John wasn't sick."

He heard his father shift in the bed behind him. His interest must have perked considerably. Well, let him know too.

"We figured," Pallin said. "The Council just sent him on a classified mission, using his KIA as a cover."

Garrus shook his head. "No. The Council didn't lie. John died, mom. He was dead."

"Garrus. . ."

"The wreck of the Normandy SR-1 is on Alchera, in the Amada System. It was destroyed by a Collector ship. I've seen it. He was dead for two years."

His parents didn't respond. They probably thought he was crazy.

"Miranda—the woman who can help you—I know she can help because she's the one who brought John back to life."

"How is that possible?" Xenafor asked.

Garrus shook his head. "All I know is that it's complicated and expensive. We never told anyone because. . .well. If it became known that the dead can be resurrected. . .but you're not dead, mom. I know she can cure you. I don't know how or how long it'll take or anything, but she can. Do you believe me?"

"That's. . ." Pallin began. "It's impossible. How can you be certain? Maybe they cloned him or. . .or something."

"They did that too," Garrus said, "but they needed the original. We killed his clone on the Citadel years ago. Mom, this can really work. I promise that if it doesn’t, I’ll do whatever you want. But _please_ try one more time. For all of us.”

Silence occupied several long moments as he stared into her eyes. Finally, her VI came to life.

“All right,” she said. “I will try. One last time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended for this chapter to be much longer. But it was getting far, far too long. So I'm breaking it up a little.
> 
> I consider this chapter (particularly the last bit) to be a metaphor for my own life right now.
> 
> And, yes. I am still working on this. Little by little. Good thing I'm not getting paid or I might have to turn this into an HBO series. . .


	16. A Familiar Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I graduated college, y'all! Now I have to go for the master's degree. Crippling debt, here I come!

**Solana**

The Blood Pack’s Omega HQ was a fortress carved out of the asteroid itself, sequestered from one of Omega’s populated sectors by fences and makeshift barriers. There was only one way in or out, and that was through a massive gateway guarded by armed patrols, turrets, and, presumably, snipers. Shipments of what Solana assumed were weapons or drugs came through regularly. A krogan guard eyed her threateningly as she walked by; turians clearly weren’t welcome here.

Well, they _were_ about to destroy the place.

After Drineax’s attack on the Blue Suns, the other groups expected an assault any moment. They wouldn’t be able to infiltrate their ranks like with the Suns—although they did have some krogan and vorcha on their side, they wouldn’t be able to just join up and learn all of the Blood Pack’s secrets in a few days. Instead, Gavorn had planned something else.

She returned to her assigned group at the outskirts of Omega and the mercenary base, a team of twelve, mostly medics and saboteurs, there in case their opponents used advanced shields or biotics. Gavorn hadn’t shared exactly how he planned to breach the gates with the teams; only that they’d know when to move, and that “it won’t be subtle.” She wished she felt as confident as him; her stomach turned from anticipation, but Gavorn and the rest treated it like nothing but a detour on the way to the marketplace. The vorcha wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but the krogan would be much more difficult. The Blood Pack wasn’t big on strategy; they just mowed down their enemy with relentless force.

Twenty agonizingly long minutes of waiting later, they all got the signal: A message telling them simply to look up. At first she couldn’t see anything, but after a few seconds, a couple of distant lights appeared against the backdrop of space, rapidly getting bigger. The krogan waving the supply ships in gave the signal to slow down, but the ship coming in didn’t show any signs of stopping.

“Oh, shit,” was all she could say between the time she figured out Gavorn’s plan and its execution. The supply ship crashed directly into the Blood Pack’s headquarters in a cacophony of explosions and squealing metal. Her group ducked as rocks and debris flew overhead, pieces of the base and ship. When her ears ceased ringing, Solana stood and looked down at the wreckage. Where there was an impenetrable fortress moments before, there now was a smoking crater with huge, warped bits of debris. She could make out certain shapes that looked like krogan, or pieces of them; she didn’t look too closely.

The alarm sounded seconds later.

 _I guess that’s our cue._ The thought had barely entered her mind when her squad was on its collective feet, weapons at the ready, and charging into the smoking ruins. The visor in her helmet pointed out any signatures through the thick smoke, but she still had to watch her step through the wreckage. Aside from the blaring alarm, it was disturbingly quiet; she expected blazing guns and battle cries, but nobody around her made a sound in the smoke. A small question pinged in the back of her head that she tried to ignore: _What happened to the pilot?_

The first shot rang out, a booming noise she immediately knew for a shotgun, followed by the even louder roar of a krogan well into their blood rage. She still couldn’t see through the damn smoke. What could they do without any visibility?

The answer hit her as hard as the ship hit the Blood Pack. She could clear the way herself. She channeled her biotic power into an outward wave that emitted from her in every direction, dispersing the smoke—and, accidentally, much of everything else. The armor she wore, a last-minute gift from Archangel, augmented her powers beyond her natural ability, and she still wasn’t quite used to the enhancement. She had to fight the instinct to keep her powers low-key; everyone there who knew her knew she was a biotic (and even then, they didn’t really know her as Solana _Vakarian_ ), but a lifetime of keeping such a thing secret from even her family established some strong habits.

The smoke cleared away for a few moments, allowing her to see the extent of the wreckage. Bits of twisted and charred debris dotted the ground all around her, but the real damage was focused on the base itself; the wide hangar doors were utterly destroyed, and nearby there were krogan and vorcha—at least, bits of krogan and vorcha—scattered on the ground. Like red and orange confetti.

The cleared smoke also revealed the source of the shouting: a krogan, eyes wide in fury and a head injury leaking orange blood down his face, firing a shotgun at two humans. Taking a deep breath to draw in her focus, Solana fired a biotic shockwave at him. He merely stumbled, as if hit by a particularly strong gust of wind instead of a blast of dark energy, but it was enough for the humans to volley fire directly at his already-injured head. The krogan took some of the shots directly, far more than any other species could handle, but soon died all the same, his shotgun clattering to the ground near his hand.

The chaos didn’t end with the krogan--it merely redirected towards the building, where snarling vorcha charged blind at Solana and her group, guns firing wildly; the vorcha were an impressive force when they had a leader, but alone they lacked the intelligence to implement and execute any coherent strategy, relying on their numbers and sheer resilience. Solana’s group gathered in two small clusters and picked off vorcha one by one, gunfire and biotic blasts sending corpses flying; when Solana had to distribute medi-gel to an injured teammate, the group formed around her to keep her covered.

The shooting slowed, and she could her herself think for a few moments. Where was Gavorn? Who was piloting the ship that destroyed the Blood Pack’s base? She looked around; all about was smoke and gunfire. There was no leader for their attack, no organization for their assault.

She didn’t hear the shot that hit her. In her distraction, she had let down her biotic shield, and someone took advantage, hitting her directly in the shoulder. Small bits of armor scattered like dust and her entire left side recoiled. She used the motion to bring up her right hand and activate a shield just in time for another shot to bounce off. Looking ahead, she gasped; it wasn’t a krogan or a vorcha that had hit her, but a turian.

His armor was purple, or it had been once; now it was covered in dirt and ashes and dark, bloody stains. He held a rifle in his hands, his armored head bent down to peer through the scope, the barrel still smoking from his last shot.

“I’d rather not have to kill you,” he said.

Her thoughts raced. She could move her left arm, but her shoulder screamed with pain. Her biotics would be limited this way.

“What’s a turian doing with the Blood Pack?” she answered, hoping to stall.

“I’m not with the Blood Pack,” he replied, “I’m just against your boss. You mean well, but you don’t know what you’re doing. Stand down now or I’ll kill you.” He kept his gun aimed at her head.

She prepared a shockwave, her joints lighting up with the power building in her body. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice till it was too late.

“You’re Azrael,” she said, preparing to fire.

Suddenly, the ground beneath Azrael’s feet exploded, sending him tumbling away from her. A krogan, huge even for his species, and covered in deep, jagged scars, issued a blood-raged roar and charged for her. The shotgun in his hand smoked from overuse.

“Fucking turians!” he screamed. “I’ll kill every last one of you! Your planet will beg for the Reapers when Skorn comes!”

She raised her hand and unleashed the shockwave she had built up for Azrael. The wave crashed into the krogan like water against rock, merely slowing him down for a second before dissipating. His charge hit her shield with such sheer force that it broke, stopping Skorn but throwing her back several feet. She landed on her back, forcing pain through her shoulder, but she immediately rolled to her feet, pistol in hand.

She aimed the gun at Skorn, but she knew it was useless against a krogan’s hide, especially one caught in a blood rage. Skorn charged her again. She fired the gun, saw spots of orange bloom suddenly in the krogan’s skin, but he didn’t slow down, didn’t blink, didn’t even seem to register that he was being shot. She feebly brought her arms up in front of her, the only protection she could muster without a shield. She could see the death in the krogan’s vicious red eyes.

An orange light blurred above the krogan’s head, then Azrael was on top of him, his omni-blade whirring. He stabbed Skorn in the back, sparks jutting from the impact against the krogan’s natural armor. Even through his blood rage, Skorn screamed. His charge directed away from Solana and he lost his footing as Azrael kicked off of him. The turian then lifted his rifle and pumped every shot at Skorn, one after the other.

Skorn flinched, but he didn’t fall. He lifted his shotgun through Azrael’s assault and fired at the turian. Azrael’s gun exploded, destroying the armor in his hands and shattering the visor in his helmet. Azrael’s body was blown back. He lay limp on the ground. Skorn discarded his shotgun, which smoldered red, and limped toward Azrael, forgetting Solana entirely.

She used the opportunity to build up power again, this time trying to focus on the legs. Her joints glowed, knees and ankles brighter than the rest. Before Skorn could reach Azrael, she ran.

Reality twisted around her as her body became energy, launching her through the space between herself and Skorn, and her charge landed on his face with the impact of a dozen shotguns. Skorn only moved a few inches, but that was what she planned.

She brought her face up against his and pressed her pistol into his wild, demonic eye. “Reapers were tougher,” she growled. She pulled the trigger.

Skorn screamed and collapsed. She pressed her gun at the softest point she could find and fired three more times.

When she was sure he was dead, she administered medi-gel to her injured shoulder and turned to where Azrael lay.

Why had he helped her anyway? They were enemies. The smart thing to do would have been to let Skorn kill her when she had his focus. Maybe he hated krogan more?

She knelt down next to him. He groaned as she turned his head and removed his visor.

Blood smeared his face, but she could still see his markings. Or, the scars where his markings would be. Burn scars, lining his lower chin and mandibles. She never forgot those scars, not even after five years.

They belonged to Lantar Sidonis.


	17. The Burden of Responsibility

**John**

“Mom’s on board,” Garrus said the moment John answered his omni-tool.

“You mean--?”

“She wants to try it. She won’t go off life support!”

“That’s fantastic, Garrus! What changed her mind?”

He listened with as much attention as he could muster, but his mind kept wandering back to the strange circumstances that brought him back to Earth. Admiral Hackett knew what was wrong with him, or knew someone who knew, and he never told John. Why? They weren’t exactly _friends,_ but they had always respected eachother as soldiers, and John had never given the man a reason to lie about something so huge.

And who the hell was Liara?

“—so I’m on my way back to Omega now,” Garrus finished. “John? Hello?”

“I’m here,” he said quickly. “Um, hey, you know Liara?”

There was a long pause on the other end. “Uh, if this is some sort of covert way of conversation, I’m afraid I’m not getting it. What about her?”

He tried a different angle. “How, uh, how’s she doing? We haven’t heard from her in a while, have we?”

“You know, now that you mention it, we haven’t seen her since the wedding. I guess Shadow Broker business would be time-consuming. But she’s probably listening to us right now, so. . . come say ‘hi’ sometime, Liara.”

“Hah, yeah.” The Shadow Broker? What kind of deep shit was he in?

“I have to go now, John. Gotta talk to Zaeed; no doubt he’s still charging me for his time. Oh, how have you been lately?”

“Fine,” he answered quickly. No need to wrangle Garrus into another problem, not unless things got dangerous. It was a good thing Garrus was so caught up in his mom’s change of mind, because he normally would have caught the lie in a heartbeat. “Be careful, okay? If you go after Archangel, he could try to use Solana against you.”

“I know,” Garrus said. “She won’t let him. Love you.”

They hung up, and John resumed reclining in Admiral Hackett’s chair, his feet propped on the desk. Hackett wasn’t there yet—it was only three A.M. on Earth when he arrived—so he had time to think and make himself comfortable. Security waved him through without a second thought; what risk could Commander Shepard possibly pose to the Admiral? He checked the pistol on the desk—found in the drawer—and made sure it was loaded before setting it down again. He had no intention to use it, just to demonstrate that it was there. He meant to doze for a few minutes, but when he woke up again, blue morning light filtered its way through the windows.

Whoever Liara was, Garrus knew her. And he expected John to know her. Plus, she was at their wedding. So it was someone he was once very familiar with. If they were at his wedding, then he counted her among his best friends.

He tried to remember the asari girl he met, but nothing came up. He didn’t know what in his memory was blocked out and what was still there. He couldn’t trust his own mind anymore. But he remembered what he saw in that session with Lanira. And he remembered that Hackett had some answers.

Footsteps. The door opened hesitantly, as if the person on the other side already felt something amiss. Admiral Hackett stepped through. He stopped only for a moment when he saw John lounging in his chair, then he closed the door nonchalantly.

“Comfortable?” He asked.

“Not really.”

“Hm. It’s a difficult chair to sit in, sometimes.”

“You should buy a recliner.”

Hackett stopped at the other side of his desk.

“What the hell do you know?” John asked.

“About what?”

“Do _not,_ ” John shot up, his hands on the desk near the gun, “play stupid with me. Lanira told me about you wanting the session records.”

Hackett shrugged. “You’re an N7, and a particularly present one at that. If something was going haywire with your mental health, I want to know about it as soon as possible.”

“My memory is what’s going haywire! And you know!”

“I assure you, Shepard, I do not—“

“I spoke to Liara.”

Hackett stopped midsentence and looked Shepard dead in the eye for a long time. Then he put his eyes in his hand and sighed, long and terribly tired.

“You wouldn’t know who that is if you hadn’t spoken to her,” he said quietly. “What did she tell you, exactly?”

“That you have answers.”

Hackett nodded. “Well. She’s half-right. I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with you, Shepard. I had hoped that Lanira could help shed some light on that subject before. . .well, before now. But I do know who does have all the answers.”

John arched an eyebrow. He took Hackett’s pistol and holstered it. Hackett offered no objection.  

“We’re gonna have to meet the Shadow Broker.” 

* * *

 

**Garrus**

It was like the first time on the moon. He felt so much lighter, like he had been carrying a planet on his shoulders for so long that he no longer recognized what normal weight felt like. Yes, Aria would be royally pissed, and yes, Solana was still in danger—but his mother! She would be all right. For the first time since he was a teen, he could tell himself that and actually believe it.

All he had to do now was pay for it.

He arrived at the Omega docks and blew through the guards without listening to their objections. They didn’t follow him. After his conversation with John, he called Zaeed, who answered with a string of every human curse Garrus had ever heard, and a few alien ones besides.

“I don’t know what possessed you to leave me on this godforsaken rock to babysit your goddamn garage boy band. . .”

“Hey!” Caelon said in the background.

“. . .but if you think I’m not going to charge you for wasting my time, let me just put a new thought into your thick turian—“

“Zaeed,” Garrus interrupted, “I will pay you double your usual fare, plus all expenses.”

“Apology accepted. What's next?”

“Now you’re going to tell me what you’ve been doing while I was gone."

“We tried following that trail you were on before you pussyfooted off, but it went cold. More importantly, the Blood Pack HQ got hit—hard. Heard their leader’s dead. Archangel’s boys are moving in as we speak.”

“You weren’t in the middle of it?”

“Of course we weren’t. What side would we be on? Thing is, we weren’t too far from there when the trail went cold. It might have been heading there. Might not.”

Now, that was interesting. What would a turian mercenary be doing anywhere near the Blood Pack?

“Put Benaka on,” Garrus said.

“Benaka,” came her deep voice. She sounded calm, as if she expected Garrus to leave and come back and now was simply awaiting orders.

“You mentioned before that the Blood Pack could hire turian help if they were desperate enough. Could the Pack have hired someone to spy on Archangel?”

“Possibly, but I doubt it. The Pack didn’t consider Archangel to be a credible threat until recently—certainly nothing to hire a turian spy for. Even after the first attack, they would have preferred to settle their own affairs with Archangel rather than have a turian outsider do the job for them. Their warped sense of pride was always their undoing.”

Garrus resisted the urge to apply that logic to all krogan. So the turian who attempted to assassinate Drineax was escaping to the Blood Pack base. If he was looking to work with the Blood Pack, then he clearly had issues with Archangel—and he knew to attack Drineax, which meant he had access to information that Garrus didn’t.

It was a start, and it was better than nothing.

“Tell the others to meet me at the Blood Pack’s base. We need to find this sniper.”

There was a brief pause at the other end of the line. “. . .Very well.”

“Is there a problem?”

“It’s nothing. I will tell the others. Lutis may not be on board, however. I can already hear him grinding his teeth.”

“Tell him he can grind until they’re dust, but I expect him to be there when I am.”

“Understood.”

He hung up and took a deep breath of Omega’s foul air. That took care of the easy part. Now he had to deal with the hard.

Afterlife had picked up somewhat while he was gone. The lights weren’t as flashy and the music wasn’t as loud, but patrons were lining up to the door regardless. It paid to be the only good source of entertainment around, even in a war. Garrus noted that the elcor guard was particularly suspicious of turians, but he had no trouble entering once he gave up his weapons. Everyone knew who he was, after all.

Inside, several changes were immediately apparent. There was a full-body scanner at the end of the entrance hall that every patron had to go through. At least two guards were posted near every doorway and even at the bar. Garrus also noticed several people sitting alone at stools or tables, their drinks untouched and their eyes searching every inch of the room, obviously trying—and failing—to look like any regular customer. Closer to the center, where Aria was, was a whole entourage of guards, mostly asari and salarian, their weapons in full view. They wore the distinctive yellow armor of the Eclipse gang. It made sense; now that both the blue Suns and the Blood Pack have fallen, Aria’s reallocated the Eclipse forces to defend where Archangel was most likely to attack next: Afterlife. People wisely kept their distance from them.

Garrus walked up to the Eclipse mercenaries and was predictably stopped. He held up his hands. “We work for the same woman right now,” he said.

One guard went up to Aria’s chamber. Garrus heard someone shouting, then the guard came back down, a little faster than they went up, and they waved him through—after a quick pat-down and a glare for good measure.

Aria’s room was busier than he’d ever seen it. Aria herself was in her usual seat, but the rest of the sitting room was occupied by what Garrus assumed were the leaders of Eclipse and whoever else she could pull together.

“I expected you to have found Archangel by now,” Aria said, her posture the same, but her voice hard and furious. “You’d better have a damn good reason for being here and not out there.”

Huh? She didn’t bring up the fact that he left Omega entirely. Could she possibly not know. . .?

Caught off-guard, and not because of Aria’s attitude, he thought about his answer. “We have a lead, someone who hates Archangel and possibly knows where to find him.”

“Then why are you here and not chasing this person down?"

It was a good question. “I need information. This person I’m chasing seems desperate or angry enough to work with the Blood Pack to get Archangel, and he’s a turian. Has any turian tried to reach out to you, maybe with information, or. . .”

“I get turians, asari, salarians, humans, batarians, and even the occasional vorcha all coming to me with ‘information’ about Archangel. Some of them claimed to kill Archangel, some claimed to _be_ Archangel, one said Archangel was a Council agent sent to annex Omega, and not three hours ago I had a volus claim that Archangel was his long-dead husband returned to life.”

“So, no angry turians out for Archangel’s head?”

“Besides you, no.”

He nodded, expecting no better. He turned to walk out.

“Vakarian?”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Come back here without Archangel’s head again and the deal is off.”

When he was safely out of Afterlife with his weapons, he let out a big, shuddering sigh. He expected that meeting to go much worse. Aria didn’t even know he’d left. He owed the team a massive thank-you when they met up.

His omni-tool beeped. It wasn’t any number he recognized, so he didn’t answer. Then it beeped again. He opened it.

“Garrus Vakarian?” Said the voice on the other end. He didn’t recognize it.

“Yeah?”

“This is Archangel. I believe we should speak.”

Garrus froze in his tracks, staring stupidly at his omni-tool. “Prove it.”

“Your sister, Solana, recently joined my cause. I don’t believe that is common knowledge throughout the galaxy yet, is it? If so, then how about this: your last conversation with her was. . .dramatic.”

Immediately aware of the openness of his position, Garrus quickly turned around, looking for any vantage points, cameras, stalkers, anyone or anything that could put a gun to his head. “What do you want?”

“To talk. I know you’re looking for me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the first psychopath I’ve hunted down.”

Archangel chuckled. “And how many of your previous psychopaths had an army? But no matter. Believe it or not, I actually call out of concern for your sister.”

“I pick ‘not.’ If you think you’re going to use her as a bargaining chip—“

“I’m not interested in buying your support, Vakarian, helpful though it would be. Nor was Solana bought; you have her own word for that. I wanted to warn you that I believe she may be in extremely dangerous hands.”

“Besides yours?”

“Besides mine. I believe she has been taken by a rogue, admittedly of my own making, codenamed Azrael.”

“Geez, what is it with you and the angel names?”

“Perhaps you are aware that Azrael was the Angel of Death. That is not a coincidence. Azrael hates me as much as Aria, and he is ruthless, Vakarian; it was one of my favorite traits about him. If I’m right and he does have Solana, she is in danger.”

Garrus thought about this. What if Azrael was the one they were looking for?

“So why tell me?”

“For Solana. I’m not interested in any reward or favor in return for this information and you may believe as you please.”

Except, of course, removing Azrael’s threat to his own operation. But if he did have Solana. . .Garrus checked his visor. It blinked red a couple of times in error. He couldn’t get a trace on the call.

“Fine. What can you tell me about Azrael?”

“Not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Like all of my lieutenants, he is turian, with burn scars along his lower mandibles; probably a punishment for some past crime. I do not know what his parents called him; to me, he has always been Azrael. My team recently discovered his whereabouts near the Blood Pack base—I assume you’ve heard what became of that? But he was not found and Solana, who was on the Blood Pack strike team, is unaccounted for.”

So he lived near the Blood Pack. It had to be the same person he was tracking. Garrus remembered the sniper shooting at Drineax; though his aim wasn’t perfect, he landed plenty of shots, at an impressive distance for an assault rifle. Not likely an amateur.

“So you want me to find him and kill him to get Solana back. Funny, I was going to do the same thing to you; how convenient for you if I go after one of your enemies instead.”

“Indeed. Almost like divine intervention, isn’t it?”

“How do I know you’re not making everything up?”

“You don’t. The only one who can corroborate my story that you would believe is Solana—and as she’s not here, she cannot vouch for me. But if it helps, I can tell you that at this moment, there are three military-trained snipers aiming at your head, and who would not hesitate to fire at my command.”

Garrus looked around him again. There were multiple buildings and potential vantage points a sniper could use, but he couldn’t see anybody anywhere that he looked. Then a quick red shimmer passed over his eyes; looking down, he saw three red lights on his stomach. As if knowing they were seen, all three moved in tandem back up to his head.

“As a show of good faith, I will not give that command—this time. We do not have to be enemies, Vakarian, and I would greatly prefer to be allies. Look around you. See for your own eyes what Omega is, and see with your spirit what I want it to become. You have done great and terrible things for your own causes, you and your husband, and the galaxy is better for your success. That is all I want. I consider you an inspiration, not a threat.”

Garrus snorted back a laugh. _If he only knew._ “I’m touched, really. Once we meet face to face, maybe I can inspire you to come quietly instead of having to kill you.”

“Very well. Perhaps Solana can convince you. Send my regards to your parents on Jamone.”

His omni-tool clicked. Garrus immediately threw up a shield and ducked for cover behind a nearby car, earning some stares from passers-by. No shots hit him or anything around him.

He woke up his omni-tool again and called his father.

“Garrus? Have you—“

“Dad, where are you right now?”

“In your mother’s room, what—“

“Just—“ His heart raced; not even being on the receiving end of three snipers did that. “Just don’t let in anyone you don’t know, no doctors, no nurses, nobody, understand?”

“. . .Okay. But tell me what’s happened. Are we in danger?”

Garrus told him about the conversation, leaving out the parts about Solana; there was no point in worrying his father more than he had to. Archangel brought up his parents for a reason. And he made clear that he knew where they were. The implied threat was obvious. “Just do what I said, okay? Better yet, can you take mom and move?”

“Move? Where?”

“Anywhere!”

“We can’t just up and move your mother, Garrus! The equipment we need, her doctors, her medicine; everything’s here, and besides, she doesn’t have the stamina to be carted to another planet. We’ll be careful; it’s not like I’ve never dealt with scum before.”

“Okay. Okay. Call me every couple of hours so I know you’re all right.”

“I will. Be careful, son.”

He disconnected. Keeping up his shield, he left cover and ran to meet his team.

* * *

 

**John**

They didn’t talk on the shuttle, though Hackett made a few attempts. Trusting him again was a difficult enough concept; conversation, impossible. Thankfully, Hackett had to fly the shuttle and could focus on that; they couldn’t get another pilot to take them to the Shadow Broker, after all.

The Shadow Broker’s base of operations lay in Patashi, a desolate, tidally-locked planet in the Phoenix System, which itself was located in the Arghos Rho cluster. After the Relay jump, Hackett navigated the shuttle to the planet’s dark side.

“Isn’t this planet uninhabitable?” John asked.

“Yes. That’s why they built their base well beneath the surface, on the cooler side.”

“And how do you know about this?”

“I might have helped. Though if the Alliance ever asks, I knew nothing about it.”

They came in close to the surface. The shuttle’s lights were only strong enough to illumine a small piece of the ground at a time.

“Let’s see. She knows we’re coming, so she’ll signal us. . .there!”

Several lights blinked at them from below, signaling where to land. When the shuttle touched down, a platform flushed with the terrain lowered them into the ground. It was brilliant. With the perpetual darkness and uniform desolation of the planet, nobody who didn’t know exactly where to look could ever find it.

They disembarked at the bottom, entering a massive underground bunker that looked ready to withstand another Reaper war, if need be. There was a fleet’s worth of unmanned naval ships; John recognized human, turian, asari, even quarian designs. As he looked around, his eyes landed on a blue spot in the distance, near a lighted doorway.

It was her, the asari girl he knew but didn’t know, and standing next to her was Matriarch Aethyta with a pitying look on her face. Liara walked with a smooth gait, but her face looked nervous.

“Shepard,” she said when they met.

John looked around. “I guess we’re not in my head this time.”

Liara shook her head. She looked like a young girl. Maybe she was, though “young” for an asari could be centuries old.

“You look like crap,” Aethyta said. “Krogan on a cracker, Hackett, you let him bring a gun?”

“I wasn’t exactly in a position or mood to argue. Good to see you too, Aethyta.”

“Am I going to need it?” John asked. All eyes looked to him. “I ask because I’m really not sure who’s on my side or not. Aethyta, you knew too?”

Liara spoke first. “I know that you’re angry and have many questions, Shepard. I want you to know one thing: everything you’re about to learn, everything you’re about to see, was nobody’s responsibility but mine. Everyone working on this, and there are others, worked under my instruction—sometimes under threat of blackmail.”

Hackett raised his hand in a half-wave.

“That isn’t very reassuring,” John said.

“I know. But just remember who to be angry at later, when it hurts the most.”

She turned toward the large door at the end of the bunker. Everyone else followed. John, nowhere else to go, walked behind them, his hand hovering near the pistol.

Assuming he  _could_ remember who to be angry at later.


	18. In Search of a Just Universe

**Solana**

Sidonis groaned on the makeshift bed, cobbled together from whatever scraps Solana could find. She had hobbled him to the closest shelter she could reach, a run-down apartment that looked long-since abandoned. She cleaned the blood off his face and bandaged the leaking wound as best she could with what she had; most of the medigel she had on her was used on her shoulder. It no longer hurt as much, but she would be stiff and bruised for at least a week. The rest of the gel she used on Sidonis’ hands, which were badly burned when his gun was destroyed; he’d likely have more scars, but his hands would retain their functionality, at least.

The rational medic in her rebelled at the utter insanity of her situation. Here before her was Azrael, Archangel’s enemy and her would-be assassin not six hours ago. Here before her was also Lantar Sidonis, the man who saved her and her father’s lives on Palaven five years before.

After that shuttle dropped them off at the Citadel, Sidonis had vanished without a word to anyone. Solana tried to find him after the War ended, but never had any success. She assumed he’d died, along with so many others, when the Citadel was destroyed.

Now, here he was. And she had no idea what to do with him. If any of Archangel’s men saw her carry him off the battlefield. . .she tried not to think of that. She tried not to think at all, letting her work automatically move her body to where it needed to be at that moment.

Sidonis groaned again. His arm moved mechanically to his head. He blinked a couple of times, then shot out of the bed faster than Solana could expect of an injured patient, on his feet and in a crouching position in an instant. His eyes lighted onto her and he reached for a gun at the same time, but his hands found nothing but air.

“Careful,” she said quickly. “Your hands aren’t fully healed yet.”

Sidonis cocked his head at her, then looked down at his palms. “Oh,” he said tiredly. “So that’s why they hurt so much.” His knees buckled and he tumbled. Solana caught him just before he fell and helped him back onto the bed. He sat up straight, but dizziness made him wobble somewhat. “Just vertigo. What happened? Where am I?”

“Skorn knocked you out. I brought you here.” She looked around. “I, uh, don’t exactly know where ‘here’ is. Not too far from the Blood Pack.”

He looked up at her. “You’re the one from the battlefield.”

“Which one?” she asked, earning another confused look. Then sudden recognition lit up Sidonis’s eyes.

“You. . .Palaven?” He asked. “What was your name. . .Sun. . .something?”

“Solana.” She felt an odd twinge, as if it affected her that he didn’t remember her as well as she remembered him. “And you’re Lantar Sidonis.”

His eyes went wide for a moment. “I haven’t. . .been called that for long a time.”

“I haven’t told anyone. Like I promised. Remember?”

He nodded slowly. “Now you work for _him_.”

It wasn’t an accusation. But he said it with such disappointment, like a father talking to his misbehaved daughter, that for a moment she actually felt like she did something wrong.

“Why do you hate him? Yes, his methods are extreme and he’s a little impersonal, but. . .”

Sidonis scoffed. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you. Nobody else has.” He slowly got to his feet, like someone with a bad hangover. “What happens now? You wouldn’t have gone to the effort of fixing me up if you didn’t plan to let me go, but are you gonna tell your boss about me?”

“That’s a hell of a ‘thank you’ for the one who saved your life, at no small risk to her own.”

“As I recall, I saved you first. I could have just let Skorn barrel into you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I can’t!”

It was her turn to look at him, confused. He looked away from her eyes for the briefest of moments. “If you’re not going to kill me, then I should go. Or you should. I have another set of armor for backup at my hiding place, and I can always find another gun.” He puffed. “That was the second gun in a week.” He started to turn away from her.

“Wait,” she said, grabbing his arm. He didn’t have the strength to pull away from her, though he tried. “Tell me why you’re fighting Archangel. You owe me that much.”

He sighed. “Why do you want to know so much?”

“Because. . .” She didn’t want to say that she doubted her own cause. That would be insane. “Because I trust your judgement.”

Yeah, that was perfectly rational.

“I mean,” she said quickly, “you don’t strike me as crazy, and you did save us, after all. . .”

He looked at her for a moment. “All right,” he said finally. “But you won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

He sat back down on the bed and gestured for her to do the same.

“Omega’s my home,” he began. “Or, well, it’s where I was born, at least. I came back here after Shepard and Aria drove out Cerberus. I’ve never seen Omega so united as I did after that; people in opposing gangs and merc groups worked together for the first time _ever_ to go after Cerberus and the Reapers. I guess I expected things to get better around here after that. But then the War ended, and things slowly got back to normal. The merc groups don’t fight as much, since Aria controls them all now, but her reign on them has been loose, to say the least; they still collect ‘protection money’ from the people, they still harass eachother over artificial borders, and they still peddle drugs and weapons and slaves and whatever else. I got angry. Angry enough to start poking at the gangs—nothing too serious, disrupted supply lines, things like that. The original Archangel, I guess you could say he inspired me.”

“So what about this one?”

“I joined up with the current Archangel and his lieutenants back before they were anything but another gang. Gavorn I knew by reputation, but I had never heard of Drineax or Michael. Archangel came out of nowhere; even back then, he never told us his name or showed his face. I didn’t give my name either, though, so I never pressed the issue. He was zealous; not satisfied with the little things, he wanted to bring down the mercenary groups entirely, destroy their leadership and send a permanent message throughout the galaxy. To do that, we would need to go after Aria herself—and that was a ballsy move; not even the original Archangel ever suggested anything like that. So—“

Solana held up a hand. “Hold on. What do you mean he never ‘suggested’? Did you know the original?”

Sidonis blinked. “I, uh, I heard stories. Anyway, Archangel—the new one—decided that we should continue the old one’s work. He took charge and immediately began spreading rumors of Archangel’s ‘resurrection.’ Very dramatic fella, in case you haven’t noticed. He gave us all nicknames of angels we’d never heard of and charged us with growing the underground support. Thing is, it worked; we got hundreds of people all over Omega to join up, and as our reputation grew, so did our membership. The original gang only had twelve members, but the leadership was never divvied up, and besides, the original Archangel didn’t have nearly as big aspirations as—“

“There it is again! How could you possibly know what the original Archangel wanted? Or how many people worked with him?”

“I. . .um. . .”

Realization dawned on her like Trebia on a summer day. “You were one of the twelve, weren’t you? You worked for _both_ Archangels.”

Sidonis looked down at his hands. He dug his right talons into the damaged area of the left, holding it there for a full two seconds. When he let go, he was breathing hard. A nervous tic? 

“Yes, I did work for the original. I don’t want to talk about that.”

“But—“

“ _No._ As I was saying, Things with this Archangel were great for a while. We had a base of operations beneath the surface of Omega itself, and we were a thorn in the side of the mercs without being a real threat to Aria. Then he started making the big plans.”

“The attacks on the merc leaders.”

“Yes. He could have killed Aria long ago, but he didn’t think that sent the right message. He doesn’t want to just kill her; he wants to destroy her image as an invincible warlord, break her from the bottom up, and _then_ kill her, right when her power no longer matters.”

She looked at the bed. “Is that. . .such a bad thing? I mean, it’s ruthless, but. . .well, you said yourself that Omega sucks, right? And it’ll suck for a very long time if Aria stays alive.”

Sidonis shook his head. “If it was just about getting rid of Aria and cleaning up Omega, that’s one thing. But Archangel. . .he wants something else. One day, I was returning from a sting that went better than expected; I thought I’d be gone for over a day, but we got a lucky break and took our target within three hours. I was returning to Archangel’s little war room—you been there yet? The roof was screened back, opening up the view of the Omega-4 Relay. He was looking up at it; he didn’t notice me. And. . .he was talking. To himself, or praying to his god, I thought. I’d seen him do both before. But. . .”

“What?”

“. . . _Something talked back._ I don’t know who or what. Maybe there was someone else that I didn’t notice, though with the light of the Relay in that room, I think I would have. Maybe he was talking to a hologram, or to his omni-tool. I don’t know. But, I swear, I heard something respond. I couldn’t hear what it said, it sounded like some other language, but I heard Archangel reply: _Omega will be the throne of the new galaxy. Soon it'll be ready for its regent._ ”

Solana waited for more, but Sidonis didn’t offer any. “And?” she said. “What does that mean?”

Sidonis shrugged. “I ran after that, and I didn’t look back. But there’s no way he wants the best for Omega. ‘The new galaxy’? I figure it refers to the Council’s ‘acquiring’ of much of the Terminus Systems. I think Archangel wants to take control of Omega just long enough to ransom it away to the Council. Even suggesting something like that could cause a war. Maybe that’s who he was talking to that day.”

Solana thought about that. The Council had definitely expanded after the chaos of the War, and with the batarians almost extinct, they had the perfect opportunity. Omega was the largest piece of the Terminus Systems that was still independent. “So why haven’t you gone to anyone with your theory?”

Sidonis snorted. “I did. First I went to the other lieutenants. Drineax laughed in my face, Gavorn called me insane, and Michael. . .that bastard tried to kill me. The other two are fine as far as they go, but that one is scary. I came very close to dying, and I think he was sent to kill me, because there’s no way the others didn’t go to Archangel with what I had said. After that, I went to Aria herself—she called me a conspiracy theorist, and I couldn’t prove her wrong—I doubt I was the only one who thought Archangel is a Council puppet. So here I am.”

When he finished his story, he took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. He smiled sadly. “You don’t believe me.”

“Well. . .”

“That’s fine. I told you you wouldn’t. Hell, maybe I’m the one who's crazy.”

“There’s something I still don’t understand. Why are you still here? Why are you fighting him all by yourself? Just to keep Omega out of the Council’s hands, when you’re not even sure that’s what’s happening?”

Sidonis dug his talons into his hand again. “I. . .it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does.” She took his hands in hers and separated them. “Why do you fight? Why do you have scars on your face?”

Sidonis jerked his hands away. “This is thin ice, Solana.”

“I can swim,” she said, pressing on. “I don’t know about your story, but you saved me and my father five years ago, and you left without letting us so much as thank you. I don’t want to believe that you’re a bad person. You can’t be, after that.”

Sidonis stood up. “Believe me, I can.”

“No, you can’t,” she said, standing too. “Because that makes me a bad person too, and my father, and. . .and anyone else who leaves innocent people to die.” Her eyes watered, but she pressed on. “I think about that day all the time. All the people we left, they’re all dead; Aldus and Tydas and everyone else. And I know, I know we’d be dead too, but I can’t stop wondering what if we’d stayed, what if we tried to bring more, what if. . .So here I am now, trying to do something good, something to make up for that. I feel like I personally killed all those people, just because I was too weak to do anything. Do you know what that’s like?”

Sidonis’s mandibles fell open in shock. He looked at Solana like she was an alien animal he was seeing for the first time. “You aren’t responsible. There’s nothing. . .I mean. . .” he sighed. “I do understand. Feeling responsible, no, _being_ responsible, for lives lost. You hear them in your dreams, accusing you of their deaths, and you try to run but it always catches up to you, in one way or another. The universe always gets its vengeance, right? But maybe you get another chance. So instead, you take up some noble Cause, sacrifice your everything to it, hoping to save enough lives to make up for the ones you took, but it never, ever feels like enough, it never feels like an equivalent exchange has finally taken place. You could save a hundred or a thousand and it still never makes up for that one, or that. . .that ten. So you keep on and keep on, too afraid to end it all yourself, but not caring if something else does it for you, because that’s what would truly make it right in the end. And your final, eternal punishment is never, ever being able to live in a just universe ever again.” He wiped his mouth with a shaking hand. “Does that sum it up?”

She couldn’t respond. She just stared at him. For the first time, she noticed the color of his small eyes: bright green. From a distance, they looked white contrasted with his face.

“I’d tell you that you’re wrong,” he said, “that you’re not really responsible. And in your case, it’s true. There’s _nothing_ you could have done for those people, and there’s no sense in your dying along with them. But there’s no encouragement that helps with this, not really. Maybe time will help you.”  He inhaled. “But it won’t help me. That’s why these,” he pointed at his facial scars, “are here. They’re my crime. They’re permanent. They last as long as I do. And my crime won’t go away until I turn to dust. Do you understand? Nothing I do makes it go away. Not even saving someone like you.”

She stepped closer to him, put her hand behind his head just beneath the fringe, and pulled his head to hers. He gasped, his mouth inches away from her own, but he didn’t pull away. With her left hand she gently caressed the scars on his right mandible. It twitched under her touch. His breath met hers and for a brief, wonderful moment, she understood what it meant when they said spirits “touched.”

Finally, he took her arm and firmly, but gently, removed her hand from his head. She stepped back, looking at his hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what she meant.

“No, I’m. . .glad you did.” He cleared his throat. “I haven’t done that in quite a few years. I forgot what it felt like. Um. . .thank you?”

She snickered. “You sound like my brother used to when he’s around girls.” Thinking about Garrus threatened to ruin her mood, but she couldn’t come up with any more conversation.

“Well, I think I might have him beat. I doubt he’s ever been around someone like you,” Sidonis replied.

“Must not. He married Commander Shepard, after all.”

Sidonis jerked back, and she knew she made a mistake. “What? Commander Shepard?”

“Well. . .my brother’s. . .that is, my last name is Vakarian.”

His eyes went wide, and he took another step back. “Your brother is. . .Garrus Vakarian?”

“Yes. I hope that doesn’t—“ 

Sidonis burst out in a sudden howl of laughter, bellows of noise that began in his stomach. He tried to hold his mouth closed, but his laughing came through loud in his hand; it was hysterical laughter, the kind madmen use in horror movies when they learned the protagonist’s greatest weakness. The sound almost frightened her.

“His _sister_!” Sidonis choked out. “Hah—of course—hah—the universe always gets its vengeance--! Ahh, I’m sorry, Solana. I swear I’m not laughing at you or your brother. I remembered a terrible joke and just got the punchline. That’s all.” He stepped back from her again, his face becoming more serious. “I’m sorry, but. . .I can’t. I’d tell you why, I really would, but I just don’t have the right. Thank you for patching me up.” He ran for the door.

 “Wait!” She called, but he didn’t stop. She stood over the bed, feeling like the butt of a cruel joke herself.


	19. Residual Effects

**John**

Liara led them into what could only be described as the galaxy’s biggest computer. Holographic screens floated everywhere, each one depicting some scene or other: some showed nothing at all, others showed people of all races in conversation, some showed fights and battles, brokers stressfully engaged in market business, couples in intimate moments, even people just working silently at their desks. He saw the asari Councilor working at her console on the Destiny Ascension, Primarch Victus speaking at some event, Tali sitting on the quarian Admiralty Board, and so much more.

In a cloud of screens separate from all the rest, he saw himself.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of screens, some still images of him engaged in whatever task, others full videos on a playback loop. He watched himself with Ari’Ka on the Ascension when the batarians attacked, asleep in Admiral Hackett’s office, on Jamone with Garrus’ parents; his entire private life literally on display.

“What the hell,” he breathed.

“I promised I wouldn’t spy on you,” Liara said, “but sadly, it became necessary. I had to know your current state at any given point. If your health suddenly failed and I didn’t know. . .”

“Why would my health fail?” He asked. “What’s wrong with me? What do I have?”

Liara stopped at a round platform that looked like an elevator. She held her arm in her hand and didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll show you.”

He stepped to the platform, along with everyone else, and they descended. The platform took them down multiple levels in a long shaft—it felt like a trip of miles.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just tell me,” John said. “If I’m sick, I can handle that. The secrecy is unnecessary.”

“You’re not sick,” Liara said. “Not exactly. You’re just not. . .whole. Miranda might be able to explain better.”

“Miranda’s here?”

Liara nodded. “She was called here when you were.”

So Miranda knew too. John remembered how jumpy she was when he last saw her. She must have thought he was there to demand answers from her.

A question popped into his head, a dangerous question that threatened to alter his entire life if answered. He pushed it away. No sense in asking it just yet.

The shaft finally ended, and they descended into what looked like a large laboratory. Two massive tanks, like the one Grunt was born in, stood at the far wall, connected by an intricate series of wires and tubes. A screen between the two projected a human shape, with information John couldn’t discern blinking at various points on the body. At the center of the room was a desk covered in equipment; Miranda was hunched over it. She stood straight when the platform landed, her eyes warily on John.

“Does he know?” She asked Liara.

“Not yet.”

Miranda sighed, as if she hoped he would.

“Know what?” John asked. “I want answers. Now.”

Liara looked at him, then Miranda. “You can tell him.”

Miranda glared at her for a moment. Then she looked John dead in the eye. “There’s no simple way to put it.” She gestured to one of the tanks. John moved closer. The tanks were covered in condensation, but he could make out something inside. He wiped the moisture away, and took a step back, horrified at the sight of the human within.

Inside the tank was John Shepard.

“You’re not the original Shepard,” Miranda said quietly. “He is.”

* * *

 

**Garrus**

“This is _bullshit,_ ” Lutis barked. “First you run off because, what, you had a fight with your sister, and then you come back and expect us to just accept it?”

“That’s right,” Garrus said. The Blood Pack’s HQ—what was left of it—stood nearby, a crater still smoldering where the front facade once stood.

“Well, excuse me if I’m not on board with that,” Lutis said. “For a moment I thought you were all right, but this—this stunt just proves my first instinct right.” He shook his head and put his hands over his ears, like he was blocking something out.

Garrus seized the opportunity, “I shouldn’t have left, but you might want to know that my sister—with whom I fought—is currently on Archangel’s side.” They all looked at him. “And she might be in even more danger than she was. I think the guy we’re hunting can get us to Archangel and my sister. But we have to hurry. The Blood Pack’s defeat will mean he’ll move, if he hasn’t already.” He inhaled. “You didn’t tell Aria I left. Why?”

Lutis looked away. Benaka answered instead. “We considered it. However, we decided—as a group—that you were the best chance Aria had of getting to Archangel. If you hadn’t come back when you did, things might have been different.”

Embarrassed, Garrus coughed. “Well, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lutis said. “Really, don’t.” He grunted and grabbed his head again, mouth twisted in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Garrus asked.

“He’s been like this for the past day,” Caelon answered.

“It’s—ahh!” He seethed a few times through his teeth. “Damn it!” He let go, panting. “I’ve been feeling this for a while. It’s worse now, but it’ll go away eventually.”

Garrus looked at him for a moment. “Everyone start scouting the area,” he said. “Stay away from Archangel’s men if you can help it. If you can’t, tell them you’re supporters—they don’t have to know you work for me. You,” he pointed to Lutis, “stay right here.”

The others obeyed, although Benaka hesitated. He’d have to talk to her next.

When she was finally gone, Garrus turned his attention to Lutis. “I can’t have you falling into sudden spasms of pain without at least knowing what’s wrong,” he said.

“It’s nothing. Comes and goes.”

“And what if it comes in the middle of a battle?”

“Then I’ll ignore it, like every other time it came in a battle.”

Garrus sighed. “Do you want to work with me or not? Either you stay and you cooperate with me, or you go and do whatever else you do. I don’t have time to argue with you.”

Lutis’ mandibles swiped at the air next to his face. “It. . .has to do with why I was discharged. I was. . .” he spat. “Fuck me. I got too close to Reapers too many times.”

“You mean. . .?”

“Do I have to say it?” Lutis looked like he was being tied up by some invisible rope. “They discharged me because, according to them, I showed the beginning signs of Reaper indoctrination. It starts with headaches and some confusion. Some people got drawn to the Reapers, just dropped their weapons and walked right in front of them. I didn’t get that bad, obviously. I just. . .thought things. Like why we were fighting the Reapers instead of appeasing them. Or sometimes I’d wake up thinking I should just kill as many of my friends as possible to save us all from dying more horrible deaths. Thoughts that make perfect sense in some cases, but they weren’t _mine._ Can you fathom something like that? Not knowing if your own thoughts were yours or something else’s? Questioning every single move you make to be absolutely certain that it’s the right move, and not the move the Reapers want?”

Garrus stayed silent. Although not a victim of indoctrination himself, he remembered how thoroughly Saren believed he still retained his free will, even when he clearly didn’t.

“When the Reapers were killed,” Lutis went on, “I thought it would stop. It didn’t. People who were indoctrinated simply didn’t get better. Maybe the most minor of cases, but the really bad ones, the ones the politicians got? They’re just husks now, because the Reapers were thinking entirely for them by the end. My case got out, so I was discharged. Can’t trust a guy who can’t trust himself, right? So now I get the occasional booming headache.” He raised his arms. “There you go. Lutis Beloran, end of book.”

Garrus considered what he just heard. _Holy shit._ No wonder the man was a basket case. Of course, this now left him with the same dilemma as whoever discharged Lutis before: Should he be kept, or should he be let go? _Could_ he trust someone who couldn’t trust themselves?

The answer was obvious. He was such a person himself, once.

“Thanks for telling me,” Garrus said. “You should have told me in the beginning. Are you sure that these headaches won’t interfere with your work?”

Lutis nodded. “Granted, they’re worse now than they’ve ever been, but I have high pain tolerance. I tried saying as much to my superiors.”

“And your. . .strange thoughts?”

Lutis hesitated. “They’ve lessened in recent years. I still get them sometimes, but I know how to check myself.”

“Very well. We’ve wasted enough time here.” He stood up and began to move.

“Wait,” Lutis said. “You still want me here?”

“Didn’t I just say that? Now get to work!”

He picked an area and began his search.

* * *

 

**Solana**

Catching up to Sidonis was easy. Though he sprinted away from her, he had only just woken from a beating by a krogan warlord. Not many people could keep up a decent pace after that. He kept up a quick walk, though.

“Will you just stop for a minute and—“

“Go home, Solana,” Sidonis said. He didn’t even look at her now. “Forget you ever met me.”

“Look, if you’re worried about my brother—“

“Ha!”

“What?” She tried to jump in front of him, but he always maneuvered through. “What’s so funny about it? You think I’m lying?”

“Not at all! Life just has an inherent sense of humor. Now, _move._ ”

She let him get a few steps in front of her, then she pelted him with a light biotic shockwave. He hit the ground several feet away with an “unf,” but quickly scrambled to his feet and kept moving.

“Won’t you just tell me what’s with you?” she demanded.

He stopped so suddenly that she almost collided into him. He looked around for a moment, then picked a direction and began to run again. She ran after. They went several yards before coming across a demolished building. Sidonis weaved among the wreckage with experience, scanning the ground. “Mmm. . .ah!” He picked up some rocks, revealing a trap door that led into a small basement. Solana followed him down.

At the bottom, Sidonis was undressed.

“What—“

“Look if you want,” Sidonis said. His ruined armor was in a pile at his feet. A new set was hanging on makeshift hooks on a nearby wall. At least, she assumed it was new; it definitely hadn’t been kept well.

She kept her eyes on the armor as Sidonis dressed. When he had the leggings on, she looked around the basement. It was very small, barely big enough for the two of them. It smelled dry and terrible. The closest thing to a bed was a flat pillow on the floor, one she suspected had mold.

“Do you live here?”

“As much as I live anywhere,” he replied. “It looks like I’m going to have to move out, though. Thank Archangel for that.” He looked regretfully at the old set of armor. “Hate to leave it, but I can’t cart it anywhere.” He put on his helmet, making him Azrael again, and he picked up a small pistol from under the pillow.

“So you’re just going to keep up your crusade?” Solana asked.

“That’s the point of a crusade, yes. Solana,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I mean it when I say that I’m glad to have met you. But it will increase the length of both of our lives significantly if we don’t see eachother again. Please. Go home, or get off Omega, or go back to Archangel if you trust him that much. Just. Go.”

Out of protestations, she gave up in his hands. “Fine,” she said.

Sidonis nodded once at her, his face invisible from the visor, and he ascended the ladder. After a moment, she put on her own helmet and climbed up too.

When she exited the trapdoor, she first saw Sidonis with his arms up. She looked where he was looking and came face-to-face with the barrel of a gun.

Garrus was holding it.


	20. Regeneration

**John**

He shook his head vigorously. The body—his body—whatever it was, floated serenely in the tank. It looked exactly like him, only the hair was shaved closer to the scalp and the midsection was smaller, more defined. Like he looked five years ago. “No, no, no—you’re saying I’m—how can I be a clone if I can remember things? My childhood, my life. . .”

“You’re not _exactly_ a clone,” Miranda answered, keeping her distance. “You look like Shepard, and for all intents and purposes, you _are_ him. There wasn’t enough time to create a clone from scratch, so we. . .” she cleared her throat. “Improvised.”

Liara stepped in. “I’ll explain what happened, Shepard. But please, sit down.”

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking wildly. “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Liara sighed. “All right. Do you remember what happened before the Reapers were killed?”

He remembered being relayed into the Citadel, being shot by Anderson, killing the Illusive Man. . .he knew something came after that, something extremely important, but he blanked.

“Some of it,” he replied.

“Well, the blast that destroyed the Reapers also destroyed the Citadel, which is where you were at the time. Debris from the Citadel mostly fell to Earth, since it was so close. You were among that debris." 

“Yes,” John said. “I was told as much when I woke up in the hospital.”

“Shepard, you literally _fell to Earth_ with no helmet and a badly damaged suit of armor, not to mention a gunshot wound in your gut that we found later. We don’t even know how you kept from burning up in Earth’s atmosphere. Do you understand? Nobody can survive something like that.”

“So you’re saying that. . .it was Alchera all over again.” _It’s happened again. I died, and they brought me back. Again!_

“No,” Miranda answered. “When you fell to Alchera, you had a fully-functioning space suit and a helmet, plus you fell into an atmosphere composed entirely of ice and carbon. Those conditions contributed greatly to preserving your body and, more importantly, your brain. This time, you fell to Earth, which is warmer, and without a helmet. The fact that we could identify you at all is, frankly, a miracle. Even moreso considering--”

“Whatever preserved you,” Hackett interjected, “it kept you alive, barely. An Alliance team was scouring the wreckage of the Citadel when they found you, still breathing, but in very bad shape.” He looked at the body in the tank. “Much worse than this, definitely.”

“So I survived after all?”

“You did,” Liara said, “for a day. When I heard that Hackett’s men found you, I did the same thing I did at Alchera: I enlisted Miranda’s help.”

“Like I said before, we didn’t have time to make a clone,” Miranda said. “You were dead, and it was crucial that we preserve the brain immediately.”

“Keeping your body alive isn’t enough without keeping your personality,” Liara said. “Otherwise, we could just create another clone—and we saw how that turned out before. So, I. . .I know it was a horrible invasion of your privacy, Shepard, but on the last day you were alive, I entered your mind and stored all of your memories and experiences.” She tapped her forehead. “Right here.”

He blinked at her. “How—is that even possible?”

“Technically, yes,” Liara said. “But it’s extremely dangerous. Holding the combined memories and lifelong experiences of two people in the same mind. . .you can imagine how that could turn out. I could only maintain it for so long, and only because we had linked so many times before.”

John didn’t know what she meant by that, but he had seen what Lanira could do, and that helped him accept this explanation. Somewhat.

“So you held my memories. . .like a computer file?”

“Computer files are much more simplistic, but I suppose that’s an appropriate analogy. And when the time was right, I transferred your memories into the body you hold now, like files from one hard drive to another.”

John looked at his hands—or, what he thought were his hands. “So. . .where did this body come from if. . .if it wasn’t grown in a lab?”

Liara went slightly pale and her eyes darted from his. He looked around and everyone else was doing the same, finding something more interesting in the room to look at. Everyone except Aethyta.

“I guess this is when I talk,” she said. “Look. The morgues had no shortage of bodies after the War, so we—“

“No,” John said, feeling his stomach rise up his throat. “You did not.”

She shrugged. “We did. We found a John Doe that looked as much like you as possible, dressed up the rest with cosmetic surgery, and Miranda worked her zombie voodoo to reanimate the body while Liara planted your memories into his head. Sounds like a bad science fiction novel, but there it is.”

“The process took a couple of weeks,” Miranda said, pale herself. “During that time, we kept your discovery hidden. Once the body was ready, we staged a discovery and told the galaxy that you had been found comatose, but alive. I’ve been working on repairing your original body ever since.”

John nodded as they spoke, but when they finished, he turned and vomited onto the floor. Liara put a hand on his back for support, but he pushed her away as strongly as he could. When he thought he was finished, he wiped his mouth with his hand—no, oh god, _someone else’s hand_ —and threw up again.

When he could finally breathe, he moved away from the vomit puddle and sat down in a chair Liara pulled up.

“That’s the worst of it,” she said. “The absolute worst, I promise.”

He looked ahead at her, keeping his arms down and the rest of his body out of his field of vision. “But there’s more,” he said, his voice weak from vomiting.

She nodded. “The reason why your memories are failing now. We expected something like this might happen, but we didn’t think we’d see any signs for another two years or so. Memories are not simply abstract constructions; they are solid, based on your neurological makeup built up little by little over a lifetime. Transplanting your life’s memories into another person’s brain—whose life and, thus, neurological makeup is vastly different--is a temporary fix. We knew they’d fade over time. So when I. . .transplanted your memories into this body, I also put a small piece of my own conscious awareness in your mind to sort of monitor your memories.” She smiled sadly. “That particular bit was inspired by my mother. I figured if she could cordon off a piece of her mind to protect herself from indoctrination, it should be possible to move it into the corner of another mind.”

“So when Lanira and I started to explore my mind. . .”

“The ‘me’ you encountered was that small piece. I want you to know that I stayed out of your thoughts and experiences as they were occurring, Shepard. I had no way to see or influence any of your thought processes, nor would I have wanted to if I could. I just wanted to keep an eye on your memories.”

He scoffed. “That’s all? I feel so much less violated now. So let me ask you this: why can I remember bits and pieces of everything else, but I can’t remember you at all?”

Liara smiled again, but her eyes turned wet. “That was a recent development. You remembered me up until a couple of weeks ago. When I saw that your memories were fading faster, I had to buy us more time. So, I. . .to go back to your computer analogy, I ‘cleaned up the hard drive’ by erasing all of your memories of me. But it didn’t work like I hoped. You still were losing memories, just at a slightly slower rate.” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just as well. I figured you probably wouldn’t want to remember me after you learned all of this anyway.”

He felt a touch of sympathy for her, but he couldn’t find the emotional resources to do anything about it. His head swam with the information he had just been given, and the implications it all raised. Liara clearly considered him a friend, and went to wild lengths to keep him alive. Same with Miranda and Hackett. But. . .

“Why?” He asked finally. “Why do this at all? Why not just. . .let me rest in peace?”

“There were two reasons,” Hackett said. Liara stepped away for a moment. Aethyta eyed her with paternal concern. “The first reason was because the galaxy still needs you. You’ve seen what’s been going on in Omega, and the drama with the raloi, but there’s more. The salarians are on the brink of a civil war like nothing their species has ever faced. The batarians no longer have a homeworld and are set to become extinct within the next five generations. The geth are gone, and some people are starting to argue that we should bring them back. The galaxy is still in tatters, even after five years of recovery. We—all of us, not just the people in this room—need a symbol, something we can all look to and agree is a good and powerful thing that will last. And that’s you.”

“I never asked to be a symbol of anything,” John said. “What I did could have been done by anyone else. I’m not a god or a superhuman.”

“Nobody ever asks to become a symbol,” Hackett argued. “As for whether anyone else could have done what you have, could they? Could anyone else withstand direct Reaper exposure without becoming indoctrinated, or bring the quarians and the geth together, or convince the Leviathan to come out of a billion years of hiding? I sure as hell couldn’t. Anderson couldn’t. The Illusive Man tried, and he couldn’t. You’re the reason this galaxy still lives, Shepard. Everyone else helped, but in the end, it all traces back to you.”

John slumped over, feeling more tired than he ever had before in his life. Perhaps he was; after all, the body he inhabited had only been his for five years. And once again, the terrifying question raised its gnarled hand in his mind, and he was frightened of the answer more than anything else he had learned. But there was no putting it off any longer; it had to be asked, and the consequences faced.

“Does Garrus know?”

In the brief stretch of time that followed his asking, space-time split into two different directions. In one, he and Garrus could live on together, retiring on a beach somewhere or getting into a gunfight with mercenaries or, hell, raising kids; it didn’t matter, because they were together and they were happy, even when they fought eachother and yelled and screamed, at the base of their beings, they were happy. In the other. . .he didn’t see any reason to walk the other direction. None at all. And the way he went depended on the answer he would receive in point-two agonizingly long seconds.

Finally, blessedly, Liara shook her head. “No,” she said. “He doesn’t.”

He deflated, put his head in his hands and sighed. He could now be allowed to believe that Garrus had nothing to do with this godforsaken conspiracy, could be assured that he could look his husband in the eye again and feel love instead of revulsion. The relief he felt almost outweighed his previous disgust and made bearing it worthwhile.

“And that,” Liara continued, “leads us to reason two of why we kept you alive: because you deserve it. Because nobody should go through what you have, helping so many people in the process, and at the end of it just. . .just die. It’s not fair, not to you or to Garrus, and even though we could have avoided all of this and just focused on your repair for five years, I just. . .couldn’t see you deprived of any more time you deserved. I couldn’t.”

She turned around and quietly cried into her hands.

Miranda stepped forward. “It took five years this time instead of two because I don’t have the Illusive Man’s resources, and because the damage was considerably worse than last time. To you, it’d be just a nap, but to Garrus. . .We—well, Liara, at any rate, wanted to give the two of you the time together.”

They wanted to give them time together. 

His feelings for Garrus didn’t make themselves known until after his two years. They barely had three months together before he was put under arrest, leading to a year-long separation. Then they only had a few more months, in the middle of the War, before they had to separate again—right after they finally got close enough to declare their love for eachother. He definitely wanted that time together. How would Garrus have felt during those five years? How would _he_ have felt, if it were the other way around?

These questions presented themselves, and they were useless because the answer no longer mattered. It was already done.

He stood, dried his face (when did it get wet?) and went over to the tank where the body— _his_ body—waited.

“So is it ready?” He asked.

Liara started, looked over to where he was. She sniffed, then composed herself. “We think so. Miranda’s had to work on it nonstop for a while now, but we’ve run the tests and everything appears normal. It just needs you.”

“How will it work?”

“You’ll get in the other tank and go into stasis. I will transfer your memories, just like before, back into your old body.”

 “What about the memories I’ve lost? Are they gone for good?”

“There’s a chance that you’ll get them back once your neural networks are re-established, but we really have no way of knowing. I might be able to retrieve them myself, but it would be dangerous for us both; I only did it the first time because you were dying anyway. We’ll just have to see.”

“Right,” he said. He felt like a high school kid going up to speak in front of the class. “Then let’s get it done.” _And then I’m going to see my husband._

He undressed, taking a moment to look at himself one more time. The cosmetic surgery had been good; he never, ever felt out of place or that he was in the wrong body. He touched the small bite scars Garrus left on their honeymoon. They’d be gone. Remembering, he picked up the gun and tossed it to Hackett.

“Liara?” 

“Yes?”

“If you can, try to find out whose body this was.”

She nodded slowly. “I’ll do what I can.”

The tank opened. He stepped in. The air inside had no distinctive smell. His heart was beating hard, as if protesting its incoming death. The tank closed with a _whoosh_ as it sealed. Liara stood on the outside, her hands on the glass like a child looking at a creature in an aquarium. In the back of the room, Aethyta gave a thumbs-up.

Miranda pressed some buttons and pulled some levers at the console. Cold, dark blue liquid seeped into the tank, filling it and numbing the parts of his body that it covered. He closed his eyes, wishing it could be done faster, and thought of Garrus and what all of this meant.

For five years he tried to retire, to just be John and let the galaxy move on as it always did. But the galaxy wouldn’t let him, and finally he realized that the galaxy was right. He was, and always would be, Commander Shepard, husband to Garrus Vakarian, killer of Reapers, horrible dancer. He had faced down some of the biggest horrors life could provide and he had come out on top each time. Perhaps he wouldn’t always. But he would always try. He owed the galaxy that much.

The liquid covered his head. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t. He couldn’t move at all, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even sense his own existence. It was just cold and dark, and as John fell into infinite space he could almost hear the cosmos speak to him, speaking with the soft voice of a young asari girl. 

* * *

**Shepard**

He awoke on a mattress, the light so bright that he had to close his eyes again. His ears rang slightly as if he’d recently been in an explosion.

“--pard?” He heard. “Shepard? Can you hear me all right?”

“I hear you,” he said, his voice gravelly and thicker than cement.

“Open your eyes,” Miranda said.

“Turn down the lights first. Too bright.”

“Your eyes haven’t been used in a while; they’ll adjust. Open.”

He let some light in in a blinding squint, then slowly let his eyes open up. The bright glare dimmed down, and the blurred objects in his vision cleared up. He was still in the tank room. Miranda leaned over him with a flashlight, checking his pupils. He thought of how enviable his situation was with many heterosexual men and snickered.

“What’s so funny?” Miranda asked, smirking a little herself.

“Nothing.”

“Eyes look good. Try to sit up.”

He pushed himself up too fast and sent the room spinning. When the vertigo passed, he looked down at himself. The somewhat pudgy stomach he had developed before was gone, replaced by the thick abs of yesteryear. His arms had also regained some definition, though he wouldn’t be lifting any weights any time soon; he felt like a child could beat him up.

Miranda tested everything from his reflexes to his hand-eye coordination. She knocked his knees, cupped his balls, and even shocked him a couple of times to make sure his body responded appropriately.

He looked at the tanks at the end of the room. One was empty, and the other full of a dark blue liquid. He couldn’t see through it.

“All right,” Miranda said. “Now to test your memory. Where and when were you born?”

“Mindoir, April 11, 2154.”

“What year is it now?”

“2191.”

“During what conflict did you single-handedly hold off an entire batarian fleet?”

“The Skyllian Blitz. That was on Elysium.”

The questions kept coming. Miranda didn’t say whether he answered correctly or not; she just moved from one question to the next. At about the hundredth question, just as he was about to make a run for the door, Liara walked.

She looked at him with big, blue asari eyes. He remembered her. He remembered saving her from an awkward situation on Therum; he remembered fighting her mother by her side; he remembered her quest to become the Shadow Broker, and her work with Javik, and all the times she helped him interpret the Prothean beacon to find Saren Arterius.

Suddenly he felt a lot less angry at her.

“How is he?” Liara sked Miranda.

“He seems to be functioning normally. Do you remember—“

“I remember everything,” he said to Liara. He smiled at her. She looked surprised, as if she hadn’t expected anything of the sort.

“Liara? Promise me something?” He asked.

“Yes, Shepard?”

“No more. Next time, just let me go. Okay? I can’t keep coming back when I die. I can’t just move to a new body and pop back like everything’s okay. I know why you brought me back now, and I thank you, really, but. . .no more.”

She sniffled, but reluctantly nodded. “That. . .will be hard. But okay.”

“You might notice some personality changes,” Miranda said as Shepard got up and got dressed. “Possibly because you’re back in your own body. Hormone surges, adrenaline spikes and drops, and so on. Keep cycling through your memories to make sure there isn’t anything you still don’t remember. Let us know the second anything feels wrong. But. . .I think you’re okay.”

Liara cheered and nearly hugged Shepard unconscious.

"I won't tell anyone," she whispered in his ear. "About what happened on the Citadel. You made the right choice."

He slowly got to his feet. Getting his balance was a chore at first, but he forced himself to do it. He put on some new clothes and went into the giant computer room.

The cloud of his moments still floated there. He looked at it for a long minute, feeling strangely sad. “Oh,” Liara said. “I forgot.” She waved a hand, and the cloud dispersed in a sparkling wave of bits. “No more spying. Not on you, anyway.”

Nearby, Hackett cleared his throat. “I’d appreciate it if the Alliance weren’t spied on, either.”

“Um. No.”

“Hey,” Shepard asked. “Admiral, do you think your shuttle can make it to Omega?”

“Not a chance. But I can get a ship to pick us up. I have to get back to Earth and explain where I was to a bunch of people.”

Shepard thought for a moment, nursing an idea.

“Do you think,” he began slowly, “I could request a specific ship?”

 Hackett looked at him for a moment. Then, understanding Shepard’s meaning, he smiled. “I don’t see why not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's one mystery solved! To be honest, I had no idea in the beginning how this particular part was going to end, so I mostly winged it until I got closer. Still some mysteries left, though. Stay tuned! And comment!


	21. Laid Bare

**Garrus**

He hadn’t expected to find them quite so soon.

After separating from Drineax, he began scanning a section about two hundred yards away from the Blood Pack. The area, what appeared to have once been an apartment complex, was now a dilapidated mess; most of the buildings were long-since crumbled to the ground, and the ones that weren’t looked like they could fall apart at a touch. Among the ruins, scattered rubble, and occasional ancient bed, he found a trap door.

It wouldn’t have been special, except the dust and debris around it had been recently cleared. A small mat clearly meant to serve as cover for the door lay nearby, cast aside in a hurry. He squatted down to open it, expecting some drifters, at best.

Then it opened.

Garrus had his rifle in his hand before the first head even came up. It was a turian, male, in full armor. He aimed the gun straight at his head. The turian looked up at him, but didn’t say a word. Garrus couldn’t see his face, but from the way his hand shook, he figured the stranger was surprised—and quite afraid. Fine. All the better to get him to cooperate.

Right after the first turian exited, hands in the air, a second one peeked out. Garrus aimed the gun automatically, keeping his eye on the first turian. The second one was a female. _Solana?_

The second one didn’t speak either. Like the first, her helmet was on, so Garrus couldn’t see her face. He didn’t recognize the armor as Solana’s, but she likely would have had a new set; she didn’t take any with her on her flight from Jamone, after all. Still, if it was Sol, then why didn’t she speak up?

Instead, she slowly got out of the basement, her hands in the air just like the male. Unlike the male, however, she wasn’t quivering in her boots. Her stature was calm and her movements precise.

“I’m looking for someone,” he said. “Turian. Scars on his lower face, maybe like mine. Goes by Azrael.”

Neither of them answered, but the male took a short, frightened step back. Garrus leveled the gun at him. Could this twitchy coward really be Azrael? And if he was, wouldn’t that make the female—

He registered movement in his peripheral vision. He swung his gun to the female just as gravity failed him. Instead of flying back from a shock, however, he slowly lifted into the air, suddenly weightless, as if in zero gravity. When he was upside-down, he saw the singularity hovering a few feet above his head, a tiny black hole in the fabric of reality.

“Damn it,” he growled. The male hadn’t done that. _Definitely not Solana._ They had already started running while he floated there like an idiot. Still upside down, he took aim at the male and fired a concussive round. Garrus couldn’t help feeling a little pride when the shot hit, knocking the male over several feet with his own momentum. _Even upside-down, I still got it. Wait till John hears this!_

The singularity suddenly closed, and gravity took hold again. Garrus fell with the weight of his weapons and armor above his head. Thankfully he hit the ground at an angle; if he had fallen straight down, the sheer weight may have broken his neck.

He scrambled to his feet. The male had gotten to his by now, but he wasn’t out of sight yet. The female appeared to have gotten away.

Garrus gave chase. They wouldn’t have run from him if they didn’t know _something,_ and he needed that information, whoever they were. He opened up his omni-tool as he ran.

“I’m in pursuit of two turians, one male and one female. The male may be Azrael. Whoever’s closest, make way to my location.”

A few seconds passed. “On my way,” Benaka replied.

The male was running frantically, but he kept tripping over himself, like he was injured or at least exhausted. Garrus aimed another concussive shot, this time at his legs, and fired. It didn’t hit him directly, but the shot’s blast punted the turian into the air before dropping him on the ground, giving Garrus another second or two to catch up. He didn’t want to shoot him for real—not yet, at least. He needed information.

Thankfully, he took longer getting up after the second shot. Garrus reached him while he was still trying to get up. He easily pushed him over with his foot. With the turian on his back, Garrus put his foot down on the fabric connecting the helmet to the chest plate, pressing down on his neck, and he casually pointed the gun at the visor.

“Now,” Garrus said, catching his breath. “I was a cop several years ago. You probably know that. I had to deal with all sorts of trash on the Citadel. You know what I learned?”

He didn’t reply, of course. Probably couldn’t get enough air to talk. Garrus pointed the gun straight down at his stomach. 

“The ones who run _always_ have something to hide. Now, the fact that you ran the moment I mentioned Azrael, well, that tells me you know something I want to know.” He relaxed the pressure on his foot, allowing the turian to speak. He heard gasping within the helmet. “Start talking.” 

He could feel the turian shaking beneath his foot. He loved it. _This_ was how things were supposed to be: Thugs pinned under his foot, at the wrong end of his gun, whimpering and pissing themselves with fear. He hadn’t felt such a rush since his time as Archangel.

* * *

 

**Solana**

 

She had acted on pure impulse, setting up a singularity to incapacitate Garrus, but it was either that or reveal herself, and for some reason that felt like a bad idea. So she did the most harmless thing she could come up with— _Sorry!—_ and ran.

Sidonis only had the energy for a quick walk before, but now he ran like an athlete, not even looking back. She could understand his fright, sort of; Garrus’s reputation preceded him. But he wasn’t afraid of Archangel, and he hadn’t been afraid of Reapers—at least, not this kind of afraid. Plus, he just wasn’t thinking. He picked a direction and ran like hell, but he ran in an open area. Garrus was the best sniper in the galaxy. He should have hidden, like she did. Then maybe he could sneak away.

She hadn’t expected the concussive shot. The blast hit Sidonis directly in the back, and even though she was several yards away from him, she felt the shockwave push her ahead. Looking back, her jaw dropped somewhat as she saw the singularity dissolve and Garrus drop to the ground. _He made that shot in zero-gravity?_

She stopped instinctively, but Garrus would be pursuing them any second. She ducked into a nearby building and watched from under cover. Sidonis was back on his feet, still running, but she could see his missteps. Garrus would catch up to him soon.

And then what? Garrus was against Archangel, and so was Sidonis. They were allies; they just didn’t know it yet. Surely Garrus wouldn’t kill him just for running?

Another shot hit Sidonis; Solana ducked instinctively, even though she was well out of range. As Sidonis struggled to get to his feet again, Garrus caught up and pushed him to the ground.

Garrus said something, but she couldn’t hear exactly what. Sidonis still didn’t reply, even though his whole body trembled when Garrus pointed his gun. What was he doing?

“Just tell him!” she whispered.

He wanted her to just go, but. . .he’d saved her life. Hell, he’d saved her life _twice._ She couldn’t just let him be killed, not even by Garrus. Especially not by Garrus.

She moved from her hiding space in a crouch, circling behind Garrus and sneaking up on him. He had started to count, apparently.

“Five. . .four. . .”

When she was close enough to hit him with a shockwave, she built up power in her right hand. . .

. . .and got blasted in the side before she could release it. She spun in the air, all of Omega cascading around her, before she landed with a heavy grunt. Looking up, she saw a krogan stretching its palm out in her direction. Another biotic.

Garrus had ceased his count and was looking at the two of them. His eyes turned to Solana. He was smiling, the idiot. “I figured you were hiding somewhere. Fool me once. . .” He pressed the gun back on Sidonis’s head. “I’m running out of patience with your boyfriend, here. Azrael. What do you know?”

She extended her hand to fire another blast at him, but his hand came up first and he pressed a button on his omni-tool. An energy wave flooded from his direction, and the second it hit Solana she felt sick. Her outstretched hand opened uselessly, her powers temporarily overloaded. The field also destroyed her shield. The krogan loomed above her, its massive size all the more intimidating. She realized it was a female. She had never seen a female krogan before. Biotic energy hummed through her body; Solana could feel it vibrating through the ground.

“I’d rather not vaporize you,” the krogan said.

Garrus had his gun back on Sidonis. “I need you alive and conscious, not comfortable. If shooting your foot off is what will get you to talk, then. . .” He aimed his gun down at Sidonis’s right foot.

“Garrus, wait!” She shouted, again out of instinct. But it was too late; the words were out, and Garrus heard them. She slowly removed her helmet. When she did, Garrus’s smile and that frightening look in his eyes vanished, replaced by a mixture of concern and confusion.

“Sol?” He darted to her side in a moment, waving the krogan away. He even helped her up. “What--? How--?” He pointed back at the spot where she had hit him with a singularity. “You’re--?”

Sidonis didn’t waste the opportunity. He got to his feet and ran, not even looking back. She didn’t know why he wouldn’t parlay with Garrus, but he must have had an important reason; one more important to him than his foot.

Garrus snarled and aimed his gun again, but Solana pushed it down. “Let him go,” she said, suddenly too tired to fight or argue. “Just let him go.”

“But—“

“He saved my life, more than once. Please.”

Garrus sniffed, his mandibles aflutter with annoyance, but he dropped his gun all the same. “That was him, wasn’t it?”

Solana nodded.

“I pictured him a little more. . .intimidating.”

“He was, when he helped me kill Skorn.”

Garrus looked at her funny. As if he expected a punchline. “That was you?”

“Yes. What? Think I can’t do it?”

“Well, no.” He looked down at her hands. “But I guess there’s a lot you can do that I don’t know about.”

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what she _could_ say. Sorry I never told you about this thing I was born with?

“I’m surprised I never figured it out,” Garrus said, his voice more jovial than she would have expected. “Some investigator I am. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I. . .couldn’t?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, the fewer people who knew. . .”

“. . .the less likely it would get out,” he finished. “Okay. But you know I never would have, you know, been against it or anything, right? You’re still my sister. Biotic pain in the ass that you are.”

She smiled. “Of course I know that.”

“Not to interrupt,” someone said, “but how do you plan to go after Archangel now, Vakarian? Our best chance just flitted off.”

Solana started; she forgot the krogan was even there, and never noticed anyone else show up. There was a human with a horrifyingly disfigured face, a turian who looked at her like she was an animal from another species’ homeworld, a salarian more interested in his omni-tool than anything else, and, of course, the krogan. She looked at her with big, ambivalent eyes.

“I’m Benaka, by the way.”

 “He can’t get far,” Garrus said imposingly.

“Garrus—“ Solana began. What kind of crazy group did he get involved with? Garrus held up a hand.

“I won’t hurt him if he saved you, I promise. But I need to know what he knows. Sol. . .I spoke to Archangel earlier. He threatened me. . .and our parents.”

“What?”

Garrus opened his omni-tool and played the whole conversation to her. Things seemed fine at first, though she didn’t understand how Archangel knew she was with Azrael, but then she heard the last line before the hang-up.

She wanted to give some excuse, some explanation for what Archangel had said. But every one she came up with sounded perfectly ridiculous in her own mind. It was a threat, plain and simple. A threat to her parents.

Her mandibles ground against her chin. She knew the risks to herself, even to Garrus, but her parents? They had nothing to do with this. Nothing!

“Bastard,” she whispered. She felt like the galaxy’s biggest fool. “That. . .I’m sorry, Garrus. For everything.”

Garrus shook his head. “No, _I’m_ sorry. If it wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened.” 

Solana didn’t understand. “What do you mean by that?”

Garrus looked away from her for a moment, sighing. “As long as we’re revealing secrets about eachother. . .” He looked at the rest of his group. “All of you pay attention too. I’m the original Archangel."

The only one of them who didn’t seem shocked was the human, though Solana wasn’t sure she would be able to distinguish shock on his face anyway. Garrus turned back to her.  
“I was the first one. I was this one’s. . .inspiration.”

“Wait,” Solana held up a hand. “When was this?”

“Do you remember when I quit my job at C-Sec?”

“Yeah, then you called us from a strip club in Illium saying you got a rich asari girlfriend.”

“Yeah, well. I lied. At least, about Illium and the asari girlfriend. I really was in a strip club.”

The other turian stepped forward. “Hold on. Archangel—the original one—was killed, wasn’t he?”

Garrus shook his head. “The mercs spread that story to bolster their own street cred. I was almost killed, but I got out alive. Thanks to my bitch.”

Solana’s heart jumped. Sidonis had been on the original Archangel’s team. Did that mean he and Garrus knew eachother? It was impossible. And why did Sidonis. . .

“How. . .” her throat was suddenly dry. She cleared it and tried again. “I mean, what happened to the rest of your team.”

Garrus looked down at his feet, away from the eyes of everyone. “They were killed. By the mercs, but I don’t blame them. We were betrayed by one of our own.” He started to shake. Solana saw his clenched fists, his fiercely pointed eyes. He wasn’t shaking from sadness. He was furious.

“Who betrayed you?” She asked without thinking.

Garrus looked at her. “What does his name matter?”

“Just,” she said, unable to think of a reason for asking. “Just tell me. Please.”

Garrus sighed hard enough to blow smoke out of his nose. “A turian called Sidonis.”

She couldn’t feel her arms. It couldn’t possibly be true; the galaxy wasn’t nearly that small. But she remembered how Sidonis reacted when she told him about Garrus, like a madman resigned to death. And then there was his terrified behavior around Garrus.

“What—what happened to him? To Sidonis.”

  
“I found him.” Garrus scoffed, his face suddenly changing. He almost looked happy. “Thanks to John. Would have killed him, too, but John. . .he has a redemptive view of people, let’s just put it that way.” Garrus smiled. “It’s one of his best traits. Sol, do you remember that big anonymous donation Mom got seven years ago?”

She didn’t hear him at first. But her brain finally registered what he said and she quickly nodded.

“That was John. Well, it was me, but I could only do it because John went after the Collectors.”

Now she was paying attention. “You did that? But. . .I thought. . .” She remembered what she had said to him back then, and what she said about him to others. “Oh, spirits. I’m an idiot.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t tell you then because you were right. I was selfish and immature and I didn’t deserve special praise for helping mom then when I left her alone so many times before. I’m the idiot.”

“You’re both idiots,” the scary human said. “Glad we got that settled. We’re still losing our only lead to Archangel.”

She didn’t know about Sidonis; her conception of him just couldn’t include traitor to her brother, no matter how hard she tried. He had said he was born on Omega—maybe that was why he betrayed them. On Omega, self-preservation was the one rule that mattered.

“Not your only one,” Solana said. All eyes turned to her. “I’ll help you get to him, if I can.”

 _Nobody_ messed with her parents.


	22. The Right Choice

**Shepard**

Liara had them all wait in a sort of lounge area set up with couches, desks, and even a large television. Hackett called for their ride and then sat down on a separate seat from Shepard. In fact, everybody sat at a distance from Shepard. Nobody spoke for a long time.

He would have to decide how he felt about what they did. Yes, it was for his benefit, but it was also a crime against nature, too close to Frankenstein for his comfort. The simple fact was: They had conspired about something so significant to him, outside of his knowledge, for five years, risking his entire identity in the process.

But the _other_ simple fact was: They were his friends. With the exception of Aethyta, each one had risked their lives for him, and he’d have been dead—truly, permanently dead—several times over without them. And now, because of what they did, he had the time with Garrus that they both wanted so much.

And then there was the _other_ matter. . .

He never told _anyone_ about what happened that day on the Citadel. Not even Garrus. As far as anyone in the galaxy knew, he reached the terminal in the Citadel, pressed a button, and the Reapers were destroyed. They didn’t know that he had a choice, or that he wasn’t sure he made the right one. For the billionth time since he did it, he went through all of the options in his head. . .

Three nodes. Three choices. And the unacceptable fourth: to do nothing, and allow the Reaper cycle to continue. The first choice: Take control of the Reapers, and use their immense power and vast accumulated knowledge to rebuild and improve the galaxy. The second: Synthesize organic and synthetic life into one new, unheard-of organism, changing the face of life itself forever. And the third: Destroy the Reapers and all of their technology.

It was his most selfish moment, the one that made him feel the visceral satisfaction of destroying his enemy once and for all. He didn’t know at the time that his decision would kill EDI and wipe out the geth, all of whom were connected with Reaper tech themselves. He considered the geth to be living creatures; their destruction, therefore, was a genocide.The rest of the galaxy, and Joker, all accepted the loss as an unfortunate but unavoidable byproduct of their victory. But it wasn’t unavoidable. It was a choice he made. And he could have made a different, potentially better one.

Now Liara knew. _“You made the right choice,”_ she’d said.

She must have seen it in his memories, a privacy violation so intimate that he couldn’t look her in the eye, necessary though it was. Between that and translating the message of the prothean beacon, his mind had been thoroughly probed and laid open for her to read. She promised never to spy on him, but did she really have to? She had more personal knowledge of him than anyone else, besides himself. He didn’t know how comfortable he was with that.

“I need a bathroom,” he said finally.

Liara blinked and pointed down a hall. Shepard found the bathroom and locked the door. He stripped and looked at himself in the mirror, analyzing every single detail about his body, trying to remember if that spot or this freckle had always been there. He didn’t have any birthmarks, and the small scar crossing his eyebrow was too noticeable—the other body had it, too. He had a feeling he’d be obsessing over himself for a long time. He felt weak, like his blood sugar was dropping, but he didn’t ache or notice any difficulty moving his extremities. Appearance-wise, he looked good, his skin tight on his muscles, though he’d have to wait for his hair to grow back. The little bite scars he’d had on his shoulder were gone—Garrus had unknowingly given them to another body. Although he never felt unattractive, he was eager to show himself off to Garrus. Privately. He resolved not to let himself go again; how many people got that kind of chance?

He debated calling Garrus on his omni-tool, but decided not to just yet. He didn’t know exactly what to say, and besides, he’d be seeing him soon enough. He never should have let Garrus take on such a job alone. It was time to get back into the field.

He dressed back up, glanced one last time in the mirror, and went to wait on his ride. 

* * *

 

**Solana**

Garrus and the others—she knew their names now; she was shocked to learn that the scary human was the Normandy veteran Zaeed Massani—gathered around the holographic map Caelon designed based on her description of Archangel’s underground city. It was surprisingly well-crafted; although blank in many areas, it still managed to lay out the places she remembered with impressive detail.

Not that it really mattered.

“He can’t get out,” Garrus said for the fourth time. “If that’s the only way in, then he has to use it himself.”

“Except it might not be the only way in,” Zaeed said, also for the fourth time. “The bastard could have a hundred secret entrances and exits all over the station.”

Solana agreed. “That’s the one they showed me, but they had no reason to tell me everything they knew.”

What she had known herself sounded pathetically less than what she thought. She told them everything that had happened after her shuttle was hijacked, including the parts where she used her biotic abilities. Garrus bristled when she told him about Drineax; he had been right on his tail and just let him go, thinking he was harmless. But she had little information on numbers (only that there were many) or weapons (only that they were modern) or tactics (only that they varied depending on who was in charge). She told them what Lantar (when did she start calling him by his first name?) had told her about the strange voices and the theory about the Council, though she still kept his identity secret.

Garrus sighed and sat back, rubbing his eyes. “A frontal assault is the only—“ 

“With what resources?” Zaeed interrupted. “Or are the six of us just going to storm the gates?”

“Aria could—“

“Aria’s stretched thin enough, and what she does have is all packed into her own headquarters. Leaving Afterlife exposes her to more risk than holing up.”

Lutis raised a hand. “Espionage. I can use my cloak to sneak in and assassinate Archangel before anyone has a chance to notice.”

Solana shook her head. “They have scanners. You won’t be able to get through them unnoticed, invisible or no.” She kept her distance from that one. For whatever reason, he didn’t seem _normal._

Oddly enough, the one she liked most in the group was Benaka, who threatened to vaporize her not six hours before. When she spoke, it was with a cool, rational voice, firm enough to stand its own ground, but also with a sort of gentleness that was almost matronly. Maybe it was because she was the only other biotic in the group.

Caelon hardly spoke at all. At first his head was in his omni-tool, playing some game or other, but now he only listened as the group offered suggestions without offering much himself.

As for Solana, an idea had been dancing on the edge of her mind for the past hour or so. She didn’t want to voice it, but nobody else had thought of anything better. Garrus wouldn’t like it any more than she did, but if it worked. . .

“I have an idea,” she said, interrupting Zaeed and Garrus’ latest argument. All eyes turned to her. “What if I went back in and tried to find out their next move? They don’t know about any of you, and even if they did, they definitely don’t know I’ve met you.”

“Absolutely not,” Garrus said immediately. “It’s too dangerous. What if he suspects you? He already had eyes on me earlier, and even I didn’t spot them until they had their guns pointed at my head.”

“If he had guns on us right now, he would have fired them. We can’t attack him with just the six of us. We know he’s going to go after Aria; I’m in the best position to learn how they plan to do it! Otherwise, we’ll just be waiting for whatever surprise he has in store.”

Zaeed nodded approvingly; she didn’t know what she thought of that. But Garrus kept shaking his head. “Sol—“

“I’m not a rookie cadet anymore, Garrus; I know the risk, but I also know that something’s going on. Everyone on Omega could be at risk. Let me do this. Besides, it’s the best option we have.”

Defeated, Garrus stood, groaning like an old tree. “I’ll think on it. For now, we should take a break.” He walked a few yards away from the group, Benaka on his heels. Zaeed and Lutis both went their own ways, alone. Caelon stood, but he stepped closer to Solana.

“I think it’s a good idea,” he said. “Here, give me your omni-tool.”

She turned it on and held up to him. He pressed a few buttons on his own and then pressed a corroborating sequence on hers, then he shut them both off.

“What did you do?”

“Linked our omni-tools. Now we’ll be able to hear everything you hear when you go in. Less risk to you, since you won’t have to verbally tell us anything—provided you get them to talk to you.”

“Huh. Thanks.” She looked toward where Garrus was standing. “Do you think he’ll go for it?”

“Hm? I don’t really know. He was ready to move hell to find you, though.” He sniffed. “It would suck if you got killed after all that. But like you said: no other ideas. We’ll see.”

“Yeah,” she said, not exactly convinced. “I guess we will.”

* * *

  **Garrus**

The Blood Pack’s former HQ smoldered in the distance, now just a warehouse for Archangel’s troops. Small shuttles came and went periodically; they were probably shipping weapons and medical supplies.

Solana had told him how the battle went down. He didn’t want to tell her, but he had seen tactics like that before: Facinus-affiliated zealots used suicide bombers in the attack on Taetrus years ago, and with much the same fundamentalist motivations. Facinus fighters rarely expected to survive their skirmishes, because survival wasn’t the point. They also didn’t seem to care who among their own got killed along the way.

Benaka’s heavy footfalls came up behind him. She stopped next to him, looking down at the Blood Pack. “So it goes,” she said.

“Why are you so skittish around that place?”

Benaka shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand. No non-krogan would.”

“Try me. I worked with a couple of krogan in my day. You could say I’ve had a unique exposure.”

Benaka chuckled. “Very well. Do you know the role of women in krogan culture, Vakarian?”

“I haven’t met very many krogan women.”

“Well, our purpose in life is basically to bear children,” she said frankly. “We have the genophage to thank for that. It’s why krogan women are so highly prized on Tuchanka. We’re the only hope for our species.”

Garrus kept his eyes on hers, but she apparently sensed his discomfort. “Oh, I’m not here to argue the necessity of the genophage, or whether it was morally right,” she said. “It happened, and it impacted us significantly, regardless.”

“But the genophage has been cured,” Garrus said. “Krogan women don’t have to be breeders anymore.”

“Indeed. But culture does not change overnight. It took centuries after the genophage for my kind to devalue its females to the station of brood mothers, and it will take centuries to iron that sentiment out” The Blood Pack is primarily a krogan group, Vakarian. You can imagine what it’s like being a female there.”

“So you weren’t taken seriously as a fighter there? Is that why you left?”

“Oh, no, they took me seriously. My particular talents speak for themselves. I was even respected by Skorn, for a time, anyway. Then the genophage was cured, and that all changed.”

“I don’t understand.”

Benaka chuckled again. “The only value a krogan female has is in how many offspring she can bring into the world, right? Now, imagine if our greatest barrier to the propagation of our species is removed. . .and a krogan female _still_ finds herself unable to have children. Imagine how that would look, in a krogan environment.”

Garrus regarded her in a new light, processed what she said. Gender roles made no sense to his turian mind; a person should be judged on merit, not on gender. But if he did value a female solely on her ability to breed. . .he whistled, not really knowing what to say. “That’s rough.”

Benaka nodded. “Yes. So I left.”

“Do, uh. . .do you want to have kids?”

She looked him in the eyes, smiling, somewhat sadly, if Garrus was interpreting her features right. “I did, once. Sometimes I still wonder what it would be like. I considered adopting, but krogan parents aren’t exactly valued among non-krogan agencies, and krogan children who are unwanted are simply thrown out to either prove themselves or starve. So since I can’t give life, I give myself value in taking others. What about you? Do you have children of your own?”

Garrus shook his head; this was not a road he wanted to go down, but Benaka had opened up to him; now he should return the favor, at least somewhat. “I’d like to, but, ah. . .”

“Your husband disagrees.”

“Yes. I don’t really know why. I guess he just doesn’t like kids.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. Well, they can get annoying sometimes, of course. It’s just. . .I think that’s my best chance of leaving a mark, you know? Like a legacy. John says we’ve made enough of a legacy, thank you very much, and any more would just be gloating. Sometimes I think he thinks he’d be a bad parent.”

Benaka nodded. “Smart. Children should never go to parents who are not one hundred percent sure that they want them. There are far too many examples of the other kind. You can tell when a parent was not completely sure when they had their child. Oh, they’ll never admit it, of course, but one who is sure always knows when one isn’t.”

“Wait. Are you saying I’m not sure?”

“Are you?”

Garrus didn’t have time to respond; his omni-tool beeped as soon as Benaka asked. He nodded his intent to finish the thought later, and she nodded back.

He hesitated to answer at first. Archangel’s call made him skittish, as though he could call again to confirm the deaths of his parents. But the omni-tool registered it as his father, probably calling for his next check-in.

“Hey, dad,” he said.

“One of two things is going to happen,” his father said, his voice stiff, as though he were reading. “One: you get your ass off Omega and come live as a happy little family, or two: mommy and daddy get their heads cut off.”

Blue terror flashed before Garrus’s eyes; his arm shook in front of him, and his armor suddenly felt too heavy for his knees to support. “Listen, you bastard—“

“There’s a shuttle leaving Omega tonight,” his father interrupted in that same voice. The stiff, nervous voice of a cop held hostage. “Dock 16-C to Jamone. Garrus Vakarian will be on it, or wake up tomorrow an orphan. Garrus, you stay right where you a—unf!”

There was a clatter on the other end, then the line clicked dead.

Panic reared its ugly head again, but he couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t help them. Garrus dropped his arm, took a deep breath through his nose and out of his mouth, and allowed himself to think.

Archangel was behind it, no question. The only stipulation the perp had given was for him to leave Omega. That benefitted nobody but Archangel.

But he said something else, too. He said that _Garrus Vakarian_ had to be on the shuttle. Nothing about Solana Vakarian.

He picked his omni-tool back up and called John. He had wanted to avoid this, but he had no other choice. The line beeped several times, entire years passing between each one. _Come on. Answer, goddammit._

“Hey, Garrus,” finally came John on the other end. “How’s—“

“Mom and dad are in danger. I—I need your help.”

“Of course,” John said, his voice instantly shifting from casual to serious. “Fill me in.”

Garrus laid out his plan. 

* * *

**Shepard**

His heart raced the moment he learned about Garrus’ parents. Now, thirty minutes after establishing the plan with Garrus and hanging up, it still hammered in his chest—but not because he was scared. Oh no.

Now he was excited.

He was anxious to get off Patashi and rescue his in-laws, of course. There was the underlying risk that neither he nor Garrus wanted to bring up, but was obvious to both: that Archangel, or whomever was holding them hostage, had no intention of keeping his word. Garrus’ parents could very well be dead already.

But they could do nothing about that. All they could do—all _he_ could do—was get there as fast as possible and hope their parents were still alive. And that the son of a bitch holding them was still there.

It was the same excitement he felt during his time as the commander of the Normandy. The anticipation of flying into battle, preparing himself. It wasn’t a joyous excitement; just a physical reaction that his body had grown accustomed to over the course of years, without ever really becoming tolerant of it. The perfect drug.

He had an idea.

Hackett had already left via the shuttle that brought them, but the others remained. Liara was at a console with several monitors, doing god-knows-what Shadow Broker business. She didn’t notice Shepard approach at first; she jumped in her seat when he made himself known.

“I need you to check up on Garrus’ parents,” he said.

“What—“

“Now!”

It was harsher than he meant, but she immediately turned to her monitors and typed something. One of the monitors changed into a block of text that scrolled by faster than Shepard believed anyone could read.

“There’s been no unusual developments,” Liara said as she read the file. “Pallin hasn’t left the room in a while, but that’s not so strange in itself, is it?”

“Do you have video?”

“Not in the room itself, but I have contacts in the hospital. It’s just. . .their job was to watch you, not them.”

“Get them on the line, find out if they’ve seen anything at all different or suspicious in the last few hours. Garrus just called. He thinks they’re in danger.”

She began typing immediately, without objection. Sometimes Shepard thought she would make a good soldier, but then, she already was one; just not by career or choice.

“Is it retaliation from Archangel?” Liara asked.

“Most likely.”

“Hm. Shepard, I make it a point never to share my information with anyone, even best friends, because it’s bad for business—and it’ll get me killed. But considering recent events. . .I’ve been monitoring Council communications, and there’s been some contact between them and Archangel.”

“You think they’re working together?”

“I know they are. However, I don’t think Archangel is the type to care about the Council’s intentions for Omega. The Council may be aware of that, and simply don’t care, but Archangel’s one for grand displays and overwhelming force, not covert imperialism. I don’t have access to him or what he’s planning—a particularly frustrating fact for me to admit—but I doubt he’s after Omega just to sell it to the Council.”

“Duly noted. I’ll think on it more later. Right now, my in-laws?”

“My agent inside the hospital—one of the nurses, you’ve actually met him a couple of times—tells me that the door is currently closed with a physician-ordered demand for privacy. Bugging the door, however, he saw that there are three people in the room. He can’t identify the third and is requesting orders. Should he alert the hospital?”

“No. That’ll just cause a panic and get them killed. Tell him to keep an eye out for any changes or noises but stay out of the room, and keep anyone else out too.”

If there was someone else in the room with them, then his in-laws had to still be alive—no need to keep guard over corpses. The third person probably disguised themselves as a doctor or nurse and just let themselves in.

He checked the time. “Where are they?” he muttered.

As if on cue, an alert sounded from somewhere within the complex. A new monitor came to life before Liara, showing a medium-sized ship descending onto her hidden landing zone. She looked at Shepard and they both smiled.

It was the Normandy.

* * *

 

**Garrus**

“That’s the plan,” he said finally. Everyone nodded in agreement. Solana’s idea was accepted: She would return to Archangel and try to find out whatever she could about his plans, identity, or anything else.

Garrus didn’t mention the situation with their parents.

It was a terrible, painful decision, one that he could already feel coming back to haunt him. But it was the best one. Solana would be distracted, might make an impulsive or irrational move around Archangel, and that could get her killed—not to mention their parents. So he kept quiet, expending every effort to act like nothing was wrong (more so than usual, anyway) while making their meeting as short as possible.

“Good,” he said, standing. “You all know your orders. Report anything off to me—anything, even small.”

“Where are you going?” Solana asked.

“I have business to take care of off-world. Won’t be too long.”

“More important than this?”

“Yes. Besides, there’s not much I can do at this stage. This is your mission, Sol. See it through.”

She nodded at him, but the suspicious look in her eye remained. If he lost their parents, she would never forgive him for not telling her. Hell, she might not forgive him anyway.

He took a deep breath. _So be it._ John had told him that the hardest part of his job as Commander was navigating the moral gray area, trying to make the right choice when there didn't appear to be such a thing, and accepting the consequences, no matter how severely things may go wrong.

“I’ll be back soon. Be careful, Sol. Please. Same for the rest of you. Zaeed, you’re in charge until I get back.”

“As if that was in question,” the man grumbled.

He looked each of them over once more. Benaka gave a slight nod. She was the only one who knew the whole story—did she approve of his decision, or was she just acknowledging him like everyone else?

Leaving them, he made his way to the docks.


	23. What's Next

**Shepard**

God, it was good to see his ship again.

Of course, it wasn't _his_ ship anymore. But just the sight of the Normandy, its blue and white Systems Alliance colors along its gray finish and the (now outdated) curvature of the wingspan, a turian design that made the ship unique in all the galaxy, was like coming home after a long, long absence.

The platform that lowered Hackett's shuttle earlier dropped the Normandy into the hangar, its nose pointed at Shepard as if in greeting. He moved to the back, where the bay doors opened. James Vega was already there, decked out in Alliance uniform, medals pinned to his chest, including the N7 patch. His blocky face split apart in a grin when he saw Shepard, and he saluted. "Long time no see!"

Shepard saluted back. Vega stepped down and they embraced, laughing.

"Commander Vega," Shepard said, slapping him on the back.

"Commander Shepard. How's citizen life treating ya?"

"I've never been so bored in my life. And you're not supposed to call me that anymore."

"Not supposed to salute you anymore either. So why the sudden call after five years? I thought you might have forgotten us, never sending word since your wedding."

Shepard winced a little at the mention of forgetting, but he let it slide. "Well, originally I called for a trip down memory lane, but now I need to take a little detour. I need your help, Commander."

Vega's face turned serious. "With what?"

Shepard quickly explained the situation with Garrus' parents, filling in the most important bits about Archangel.

Vega listened attentively. He looked around the hangar. "This is one hell of a setup Liara's got going on. I've heard bits and pieces about what was happening on Omega, but damn. I didn't know Garrus was there."

"So can you help me out?"

Vega looked at him as if he just asked if he could walk on water. "Was that in question? You're not the only one who's been bored. Of course, we'll help."

"Perfect. I'll be up in just a sec."

Shepard returned to the computer room. Everyone was there as if waiting for him.

"I need weapons and armor if you have them," he said to Liara.

"I don't have any armor that would fit you, but weapons I can spare. Are we leaving now?"

" _You_ aren't going anywhere." He didn't mean to say it quite so harshly. "I need you here, keeping an eye on. . .everything."

Liara looked like she was about to object, but she simply nodded and left to look for weapons. Aethyta came up to him.

"I know you're pissed about the whole thing, but she's really doing her damnedest for you," she said.

"I know, Aethyta. I just need some time to process it all."

"Time's in short supply for you humans. You don't have the luxury to hold a grudge forever like the asari do."

"Duly noted."

Miranda came up next. "I'm not coming either."

"Wasn't going to ask."

She nodded. "Good. You may like that ship, but honestly, I've had enough of it to last a lifetime." She stretched out her hand, and Shepard shook it. "Good luck, Commander."

Liara returned with an assault rifle and a pistol. "It's all I can spare," she said apologetically.

He took the guns, weighing them in his hands. "They'll do. Thank you. Let me know if you hear anything important."

"I will. And, Shepard. . .be careful."

He nodded. Returning to the Normandy, he climbed aboard the shuttle bay, meeting Vega inside. The smell of shuttle fuel and old tires brought a strong sense of nostalgia for the old days before the Mako was destroyed.

"Nobody else is coming?" Vega asked. "I at least expected Liara."

"Just me. Liara and I currently have some. . .philosophical differences."

Vega nodded sagely and dropped the subject. "Come on. The crew is dying to meet you."

They took the elevator ( _good ol' elevator!_ ) up to the ship's Combat Information Center. It looked just like he remembered: computer lights speckling the walls while the galaxy map swirled idly in the center. Unlike in Lanira's dream, however, this CIC was populated, with crew (all humans) at their computer terminals.

"Attention!" Vega called when they entered. Each and every crewman stopped what they were doing and stood, saluting. Some of them went bug-eyed when they saw Shepard. He felt a little awkward.

"You all know who this is," Vega said, his voice carrying clearly throughout the room. He projected an air of authority very well. "He's going to be traveling with us for a while. You're all to show him exactly the same respect you show to me, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" The chorus answered.

"Dismissed."

Vega grinned at Shepard when everyone else sat back down. "They don't respect me a damn bit, so don't get authoritarian on them."

"Is that you, Shepard?" Called a voice from the bridge. Looking into the open the door, he saw a thumbs-up emerge from behind a large, leather seat.

"Still running the ship, Joker?"

"You know it!"

He turned to Vega. "Any other veterans still here?"

"Lieutenant Adams is still on the Engineering deck; I think the Normandy would explode without him. You can find Samantha hanging around here somewhere; I'm not actually sure what she does. Other than that and Joker, it's all new."

"Doctor Chakwas left?"

"Yep, and Steve and Donnelly and all the rest of them. Thank God nobody's gotten sick. You should meet everyone when you can."

"Um about that. Where do you want me?"

"Huh?"

"You know, on the ship. Where's my assignment?"

"You outrank me, boss. I should be asking you."

"This is your ship now, Vega."

"Not when you're on it, sir. Besides, with what's going on, it might be better for you to take the helm. I'm great with the parades and the school tours and the victory laps, but, uh, not so good with the life-threatening stuff."

He'd almost forgotten about his mission, what with the surge of pride from being on the Normandy again. _I really, really missed this._

"We'll talk about it. In the meantime, we should get going."

"Yeah!"

Vega stepped up to the middle platform. The galaxy map sprung to life before him. He selected the region he wanted, followed by the system, then the planet, directing Joker to pilot the ship to Jamone. It was a lot less mesmerizing watching the process from the ground.

Shepard made his way to the bridge, passing the occasional nod from one of the crew. For the first time in years, he had a crew again. Not his, technically, but still.

Joker was in his seat, a new installment since the War. The seat next to him was conspicuously empty.

"You cannot believe how comfortable this chair is," Joker said when Shepard walked in. "It's like being on a throne, but better. I'm not in charge of anyone. How are things in the wonderful world of unchanged underwear and fried food? How's Garrus?"

Shepard explained the situation to Joker, who spun slowly in his chair.

"Jesus. Trouble just finds you guys, huh? Good thing you're on my ship. No trouble here. Except the schoolkids." He shuddered. "Evil little bastards."

A blue orb of light flashed into existence in the empty copilot seat, making Shepard jump.

"I rather like the schoolchildren, Mr. Moreau," said a male voice. "They remind me of so much of you."

"Damn it, EDI, I've told you not to eavesdrop! Shepard, meet New EDI."

"A pleasure," EDI said. "I've read everything that's ever been published about you."

"It's a new program," Joker said. "They wanted to give him the same female voice as before, but it was. . .a little much, you know? Besides, there's no replacing the original. Although they didn't have to make him a pain in the ass!"

"Apologies for the pain, Mr. Moreau. I will adjust your seat right away."

Joker's seat instantly lifted up a few inches and spun, slowly, four times, Joker cursing all the while.

"Damn passive-aggressive. . .so that's been my life these past few years."

Shepard laughed. The sight was all too familiar for him, and it was a good one. He remembered EDI as a completely separate entity, unique in herself. . .but if Joker could adjust, so could he. "I'll leave you two alone. Good to meet you, EDI."

The ball of light vanished.

"Oh, sure, he goes away for _you,_ " Joker grumbled as he returned to his front-facing position. "So, Jamone, huh? What're we doing there?"

"Saving my in-laws, hopefully."

"Wait, this is a 'mission'-mission?" He pumped his arms in front of him. "Yes! I mean, sorry about your folks and all."

He put his hands on the controls and started pressing buttons. The Normandy was being lifted back up into the merciless atmosphere of Patashi. Shepard felt the gentle hum of the engine beneath his feet, a sensation he'd almost forgotten, yet as familiar as his own heartbeat now that he felt it again.

Departing the bridge, he walked through the CIC and turned into the War Room. The image of the Crucible that hovered in the center of the room was long gone and the multiple terminals around the room were unmanned, both pleasant sights to see. Vega was in the back, reading a datapad. When he heard Shepard's footsteps, he put the datapad away.

"Spoke to Joker? Did he complain a lot?"

"Always. I also met the new EDI. I didn't want to ask him, but. . .is he doing all right? After everything?"

"Yeah," Vega said. "I mean, he was pretty beat up about it at first. Thought he'd quit flying altogether when they brought out the new EDI, but he's adjusted well enough."

Shepard nodded. He always felt a stab of guilt over losing EDI. If he had known she would be lost with the Reapers, he might well have made another choice—he considered her both alive and a friend, and to Joker she was something more. If it had been him and he lost Garrus, he wasn't sure he could have recovered in just five years.

Eager to change the subject, he asked about positions again.

"I still think you should take the helm," Vega said. "You're _de facto_ leader on here anyway. The crew will follow your orders over mine regardless, especially if I tell them to."

"I don't have any connection with your crew, James, personal or professional. They might be gung-ho to listen to me when it's quiet, but in a combat situation, who knows?"

"We're not going into a combat situation, though, right? I mean, you're going after just one guy on Jamone, and you have plenty of time to get to know the crew between here and there. I'm not relinquishing command entirely—sorry, but I like this ship too much—just letting you be a visiting commanding officer for a while. You should by all rights outrank me anyway. It's _no problema_ , Shepard. Honest."

Shepard sighed. As far as losses went, it was one he was all too happy to accept. "All right. Let's go over the plan."

They discussed what they should do when they reached Jamone. Shepard explained the layout of the hospital, what floor Garrus' parents were on, and how to get there.

"We could send you straight to that floor in a shuttle," Vega suggested. "The Normandy itself might be too big for a firefight, but. . ."

Shepard shook his head. "He can't know that I'm coming; he'll just kill them. We also have to keep the rest of the patients in mind. I'll have to go in alone and act casual."

"Will he really kill them, though? Would that be. . .you know. . . _wise_? Just thinking from Archangel's perspective here. He'd be starting a war with you, of all people."

"He already has. I'm not letting this one go, James." Archangel probably already knew that. If he didn't, then he made a fatal miscalculation. "Omega's my next stop after this."

Vega nodded. They might get into a combat situation after all.

* * *

 

**Garrus**

The docks were crowded. People itching to get away from the escalating violence waited to pile onto shuttles and make for silvery pastures. 16-C was less crowded than the others, but the shuttle to Jamone would still be full.

Garrus scanned the crowd. He would be watched, but with so many people around it was impossible to determine by whom. They would be on the shuttle with him, to make sure he took the full flight.

He resisted the urge to turn on his omni-tool and call John. There was nothing he could do at this point. John had the plan and was the only one who could help. He had to trust that he had everything handled.

People stared at his face as he entered the shuttle. Garrus Vakarian, taking regular transport like a normal person? But rather than swamp him for autographs or baby-kissing, they scooted away from his general direction, clearly uncomfortable with a galaxy-famous ex-cop around. Just as well. He wasn't feeling sociable anyway.

He found an empty seat and claimed it. Passengers stowed what luggage they had—some didn't even have a shirt—and found their own seats. The spot next to him lay unclaimed for the longest time, until finally one unlucky volus waddled up and sat his round body down in it.

The engines hummed softly. They would depart soon.

* * *

 

**Solana**

Whatever errand Garrus had to run, it better have been worth it.

As she made her way through the familiar pathways leading to Archangel's underground HQ, she didn't feel fear or nervousness; only anger. Anger at Archangel for threatening her parents, anger at Gavorn for his destructively crude plan back at the Blood Pack, and, most of all, anger at herself for getting caught up in this situation. She was also angry at Garrus, but Garrus was right: She didn't know anything, and if she had, she would have been smarter than this.

She let that anger drive her feet forward, through the guards and the scanners, past the gawking eyes of people celebrating Archangel's latest victory. She didn't care about the Blood Pack, or any of the other mercenary groups; to hell with all of them and the misery they all caused. But at least they hadn't tried to hurt her family. Well, except Garrus, but he brought that on himself.

She realized she still hadn't fully processed Garrus' admission to being the original Archangel. She never even suspected it before, but now it made perfect sense: Archangel was a legendary sniper, and supposedly sought after by Shepard himself before he (reportedly) got killed by the mercenaries. He also showed up right after Garrus ran away from C-Sec, and vanished after Garrus started sending her messages from the Normandy. Of course, it was him. And the scars on his face weren't from some accident, but from a missile fired at him from the Blue Suns. She wasn't a detective like he was, but she never thought herself _stupid_ until now. And then there was her relief at his reaction to learning about her secret. Deny it as she might, she knew that she was still somewhat afraid that Garrus would be disgusted by her biotics.

She owed him a lot of apologies later.

Her legs had taken her into Archangel's building before her mind had quite caught up, and she started when she realized how close she was. Had he planned this from the beginning? What would happen if he knew that she knew? She couldn't fight out of here and escape to the surface, not on her own. If they knew, she was dead.

Well, nobody had tried to kill her yet. That was something, at least. And the guards allowed her through without a second glance. If Archangel planned to kill her, he planned to do it himself. She could fight one man if she needed to.

When she got to the top of the tower, into the penthouse, Drineax, sitting on the couch, looked up and leaped to his feet. "You're back!" He shouted, genuinely happy (and surprised?) to see her.

She felt a sudden pang of regret. Spirits help her, but she actually kind of _liked_ Drineax; his genuine zeal for life in all its dark and hilarious innings was paradoxically charming, and he actually seemed to care about her well-being, even though he was the one who brought her into this mess in the first place. But she couldn't rely on him as an ally. He already turned on Sidonis, and she had no doubt he would choose Archangel over her. She had to regard him and Gavorn both as enemies.

Did they know about her parents too?

"Yeah," she said, trying to muster the enthusiasm she needed. "I'm back. Is Archangel here?"

Drineax nodded toward the War Room. "Boss is in there. Gavorn's wrapping things up at the Blood Pack and Michael's on some secret mission, but I don't think he wants to be disturbed at the moment. . ." He looked at her, cockeyed. "What held you up, anyway?"

"I. . .was injured. Took a shot to the shoulder." She patted the charred spots on her armor where she'd been shot. It still hurt. "Had to regroup and bandage that, then there were wounded, and before I knew it, all this time had passed. I didn't even know the fight was over until I looked up and saw that nobody was shooting anymore."

"You didn't report to Gavorn?"

"I didn't see him. What was the deal with that mission, anyway?"

Drineax lifted his palms. "Only people who know are Gavorn and the Big Guy. We don't let eachother in on our plans unless we absolutely need to—it's very Chaos Theory, but it works. I heard it was a mess over there, though. Glad I got to sit it out." He cracked his knuckles. "I prefer a much subtler approach."

"As if what happened with the Blue Suns was subtle?"

"Hey, it was perfectly subtle right up until the shooting started."

She couldn't help but laugh a little, even through her pensiveness. She cleared her throat and prepared herself. "So. . .what's next?"

"Whahuh?"

"You know. For the plan. What are we doing next?"

"Oh, right." He shrugged again. "Like I said, Chaos Theory. Michael's in charge of dealing with Eclipse. We didn't expect them to all converge on Aria's base, though. That will probably change things. Might be what he's dealing with right now. Regardless, we're close to the end. Can you feel it?"

She did, and she didn't like it at all. "I need to talk to Archangel," she said. She made her way to the War Room.

"Um," Drineax said, catching her bad arm. She winced and he let go, apologizing. "He really doesn't like being interrupted during his private time, even for something important. Believe me, I speak with experience."

"Even so," she turned again. She needed to know what was going to happen next. She needed to get the hell out of that place.

"Okay," Drineax said behind her. "Don't say I didn't warn you!"


	24. Echoes From the Past

**Shepard**

Samantha Traynor met him with an excited hug. "I am so glad to see you again!" Then, remembering who he was, she stepped back and cleared her throat. "Commander."

"It's good to see you, too. What have you been doing lately?"

"Oh, pretty much the same as before. I've never been one for the difficult work. Have you met everyone else yet?"

"Not yet, but—"

She grabbed his hand and pulled him along, introducing each individual crewman on the deck. Their names went by him so fast that he forgot them as soon as he spoke to the next one.

The first non-human he encountered was the cook, a hanar who gave his formal name as Melid. His tendrils expertly flipped multiple food items and utensils as he cooked.

"The quality of the food skyrocketed when Melid joined up," Traynor said. "Not nearly as many people get sick either."

Doctor Chakwas' seat was now occupied by a salarian, Dr. Nest, a short, cranky man who told them to quit contaminating the medical bay air the moment they walked in.

"You get used to him," was all Traynor said.

Across from the kitchen was the main battery. Shepard smiled to himself; a lot of great memories of Garrus were in that room: Garrus hunched over his terminal, too lost in work to notice Shepard staring at his butt; Shepard hunched over Garrus' terminal, with Garrus hard at work on a very different kind of job. . .

The main battery's doors opened, and his fond recollection was ruined. A batarian officer stepped out, his gaze focused on a datapad in his hand. The Alliance navy uniform he wore looked almost hilariously out of place. The batarian turned toward the crew quarters, never noticing Shepard or Traynor standing mere feet away.

"And who's that?" He asked, trying to keep his voice level as possible.

"Oh, that's Karam. He's the chief gunnery officer. Brilliant guy; I'd say he could even give Garrus a run for his money."

"Vega hired him?"

"Yep. He doesn't talk much. I don't really know his story. Vega might, though. He insisted on bringing him. Oh, and down here there's..."

He didn't hear much of the rest of their conversation. He kept thinking about the batarian on his ship. _No, Vega's ship. Not your crew, not your business._

Still. As far as he knew, no batarian had ever set foot on the Normandy; certainly not during his run as its Commander. It felt out of place, like a volus in a swimming pool.

Taking a deep breath, he managed to put it out of his mind for the moment and resume Traynor's tour, his old home feeling much less homely than it once had.

* * *

 

**Solana**

The roof to Archangel's war room was wide open, bathing the entire space with the unsettling russet color of the Omega-4 Relay. The light cast shadows in just the right way to somehow make the room seem both lit and dark, like looking through it all with her peripheral vision. Archangel sat at the end of the table, his hands laid out before him, head craned back in the seat. Someone could have mistaken him for sleeping.

His helmet was off.

She couldn't make out his face in the strange light, not at the angle he held it, but on his exposed neck she saw a trail of odd purplish-blue lights gently pulsing against the atmosphere of red, like fluorescent blood. Extensive cybernetic surgery? He must have been severely injured during the War.

The door shut behind her. Archangel jerked aware in his seat, instantly reaching for his helmet on the table. She caught the faintest glimpse of his eyes—they glowed deep blue and left quick trails of light in the dark. Such eyes were only seen in people who've undergone intensive surgery, the kind that was highly expensive and only used on those who suffered severe, irreparable damage both inside and outside of their bodies.

His helmet secured back on his head, he jumped out of his seat. "How _dare_ you—you!" He sounded surprised to see her.

She faltered, whatever plan she had evaporating from her mind. "I. . .I'm back from—"

"Is Gabriel outside?"

She nodded.

"Then he should have told you to _never_ interrupt me when I'm praying."

"I wanted to update you—"

"I don't care if the universe is coming to an end!" He snarled. "You just—nevermind. This is your first infraction. Make it your last. What did you want?"

"We. . .we successfully took the Blood Pack, and—"

"I know that already. Where have you been?"

"I was injured, and then I had to help other injured fighters. I was caught up."

A few still moments passed before Archangel finally nodded. "Very well. Anything else?"

She swallowed, feeling less and less confident as time went on. "What happens now?"

"Now we wait for Michael. He's working on a project for me off-world. He should be finished soon."

"But what about Afterlife? Aria's going to know you—we're coming."

"Yes. It won't matter. Her time is limited—and shorter than she realizes. With the supplies we've gathered from the Blood Pack base, we're more than suitably outfitted for an assault."

Solana nodded, hoping Caelon was listening. "So it's a direct assault on Afterlife, then?"

Archangel's head pivoted, and for a moment she thought she went too far. But his voice didn't change. "It's every strategy we've employed up to now, and more. You're very...eager today."

"I...just feel like enough time's been wasted."

"Then quit wasting more of it." He turned and returned to his seat, where he resumed looking up at the sky. His helmet didn't allow him to crane his head back as much.

Taking the hint, Solana turned to leave...but there was one more question on her mind, one she had to know. "What happened to Gavorn? I haven't seen him since the attack on the Blood Pack."

Archangel's head slowly lowered, and once again she felt the cold of his eyes on hers even through his visor. He tapped his fingers on the table a few times, then stood up perfectly straight. "Rafael is dead."

She froze. How could that have happened? At the battle? But how? She never saw him there...

The answer came to her in a flash of fire and smoke. "The ship," she breathed inadvertently. "The one that created the opening for us to storm the gates."

Archangel didn't respond, with word or movement. He stood stock-still, facing her the entire time.

"But why would he-?" She continued. It didn't make any sense. "Why use him as a suicide bomber? The ship could have been controlled remotely, or we could have—"

"Rafael was useful, but never fully committed to me," Archangel replied. He moved a few steps toward her, his hand caressing the table. "He was focused on money and his insignificant vendetta with the vorcha. His death held more value to my cause than his life."

His words horrified her, to the extent that she forgot her initial apprehension. "You killed him because you weren't his top priority? You son of a—"

Archangel closed the gap between them faster than she believed possible. His one hand wrapped around her neck, and her feet slowly left the floor. Nobody could have enough strength to lift a fully-armored turian with one arm!

"You have the _audacity_ to judge me? You?!"

There was a flash of reddish light. His omni-tool shimmered like a flaming sword in front of her face. "My only regret is that you didn't die along with him, as you were supposed to!"

She kicked at him, but he didn't even flinch as her foot landed on armor. She fired a biotic shockwave at him, but his proximity to her combined with her weakened position in his hand only sent the shockwave smashing against the door. Archangel barely moved a step.

"I killed him to suit my needs, yes. And you believe yourself better? You, who left an entire school full of victims to be slaughtered like _xemna_ by the Reapers, purely out of fear and self-preservation?"

Seeing the confusion on her face, he lowered his omni-blade and shut it off. "You don't remember. Did you block it out of your mind from regret, or was it just not that important to you?"

He threw her to the ground, jerking her neck painfully in the process; she felt something pop even before she hit the ground. Before she could move or catch her breath he was standing on her, pinning her helplessly to the floor. He planted one foot on her right hand, then the other on her left arm. She couldn't aim a biotic blast or do anything but move her wrists.

"I didn't expect you to survive the blast. Imagine my surprise when you show up right at my door." He growled. "Your brother's not here to help you anymore, and by the time he learns of your death, it'll be too late—for you and your coward father. For the galaxy to just drop the both of you in my lap after all these years-! Divine providence is a wonderful thing!"

She inched her hand closer to the pistol on her hip. Her fingers brushed against the gun but she couldn't grab it.

"Who are you?" She growled through gritted teeth.

Archangel stood again, his weight shifting enough on her arms for her to inch her hand a bit closer to the gun. "I saved your life. Remember?"

He stretched his arm out, pointing. When he spoke, his voice changed—lighter, more humorous, more akin to a living being. It was a voice from her nightmares. "'I could've swore that big one there was in the Zohess District this morning.'"

He brought his hand back and removed his helmet. She could finally see his face: it had been badly damaged, both mandibles almost completely replaced with dark metal prostheses and glowing eyes that were entirely mechanical; what little skin there was covered him in tattered bits that looked ready to peel off any day. But she knew that voice.

"Aldus," she breathed.

"Another meaningless name," he said, his voice back to the deeper, inorganic grind it had been. "One I traded when I came here. Do you known what happened after you abandoned us in that school, Solana? You and your merry band of friends, sneaking out in the middle of the night like children hiding from their parents? I killed them, by the way." He pointed his fingers like a gun and "fired" as he listed their names. "Trinia. Granthal. Hunted them down and tore them apart, the way the Marauders tore apart little Tydas in front of my eyes. Took me less than a year. Never found the others, but no matter. I discovered a greater purpose than petty revenge. But when you appeared here, now, of all times, of all places, I knew I'd been rewarded the perfect chance." He bent down close to her face. Even his breath smelled synthetic, like rust. "They razed that building to the ground. Whoever wasn't killed was converted. They tried to convert me. They almost succeeded. They did this." He waved his hand around his face. "Through the pain, I saw and heard things you can't imagine, things wonderful and terrible. Then, right in the middle of my. . .process, the Reapers simply ceased to be. Poof! All gone, thanks to Shepard. I wandered that shattered globe, aimless, purposeless. All I heard was a tiny voice, a single little voice calling me, pulling me forward. I followed it to Omega, where it showed me a new purpose. I'm going to clean this station of the filth of the old universe, starting with you, and the Milky Way will eventually follow."

The doors suddenly slid open. Drineax stepped in gingerly. "Everything okay in—"

She reached her pistol and, with an effort of will, tore her arm from under Aldus' foot to fire. The gun kicked back in her wrist, and Aldus staggered off of her, his omni-tool flashing again. She fired another biotic blast at his feet, sending him sprawling. She got to her feet and made a mad dash to the door.

"Stop her!" Aldus screamed from behind. Drineax, his wide, shocked eyes darting between her and Aldus, hesitated just long enough for her to hit him with a blast, pushing him into the next room. She ran past him, through the doors, as a gunshot hit the wall right next to her head. She moved automatically. Her heart beat faster than her head could create thoughts and her breath refused to catch up to her lungs. So her legs did the thinking for her.

_Out the door. Get out the door. Down the ele—no, down the stairs! Where are the stairs? Door! Jump, down one flight, now the next. . ._

At the bottom level, she came out to the first floor. The two krogan guards at the gate were saying something into their omni-tools. They looked up straight at her. _Oh, shit._ She barely could kill one krogan! She automatically lifted her arm to generate a shield, just in time to catch a hail of bullets that flashed as they impacted her biotic barrier. The shield barely held long enough for her to duck behind a corner. She pulled out her pistol—pathetic against the krogans' rifles—and fired blindly around the corner. Her shots were answered by another flurry of bullets, most of which either sailed past or tore at the corner wall just by her head. All it did was buy time.

The door was _right there._ The noise would quickly attract attention, and she couldn't fight off the whole damn fortress! And Archangel—no, Aldus—was close behind.

She had to make a dead run.

She waited, gathering what biotic energy she had into her legs. When the bullets finally stopped, she took a deep breath. . .

. . .which was knocked out of her from behind. A hard impact into her lower back, then a kick to the back of her knees, pushed her down. She got to see Drineax before he yanked her by the wrists, his face a mask of fury like she had never seen, not even when she angered him before. The sharp end of his knife pressed hard against her neck.

"Drineax—" she began.

"Shut up. How could you-? I thought—"

"He killed Gavorn! He killed Gavorn, and he's trying to kill me because—"

"I said shut the fuck up!" He shook her against his blade, and she felt a small flash of pain at the softest part of her skin. When he was done, she could hear him panting. "Should never have. . .Azrael all over again. . ."

Aldus appeared around the corner, his helmet restored, the krogan guards behind him. He didn't look the least bit winded by their chase. "Kill her," he ordered.

She heard Drineax sniff behind her head. "I'm sorry, but you betrayed us. I don't feel guilty." His knife lifted, spun in his hand, the point facing her neck.

Then the knife exploded.

At least, that's what she first thought. A flash of sparks sent the knife flying, and Drineax cursed profusely, grabbing his hand.

It was enough.

She ducked as another shot hit Aldus in the back. It must have been a concussive round, because it sent him flying forward, just feet away from her; he hit the ground like a bag of rocks. She bolted for the door, past the two confused krogan, who didn't seem to know whether to fire _at_ her or _past_ her.

There was a car outside, sitting on the sidewalk. The barrel of a rifle stuck out of a window. It flashed as it fired another round that sailed past her head; the muzzle jittered around as it was being reloaded. When she was close, the window rolled down.

Lantar Sidonis waved frantically at her. "Hurry!"

She dove into the car's back seat. Lantar fired another shot before tossing her his gun. "Shoot, I'll drive."

She held the heavy weapon in her arms. "I can't use this thing!"

"Just aim at their direction and fire!"

Their pursuers got smart and fired at them from inside. The car took its precious time warming up and lifting off the ground. She tried pointing the rifle out of her window, but couldn't keep the barrel steady. "Fuck this," she said, tossing the gun aside. She rolled the window down the rest of the way and fired a biotic shockwave at the building, destroying glass and throwing debris. It didn't hit anybody, but it wasn't meant to. They just needed the precious seconds.

The car finally lifted off, and the ground receded from them. She rolled up the window and collapsed in the seat. They weren't safe yet—far from it—but there wasn't anything else she could do.

Thoughts she wanted to keep out began to break their way in.

"How-?" She began to ask.

"I kinda followed you," Lantar replied. "Not on purpose, at first, but then I saw you coming in and just stayed behind."

"But why?"

"Honestly? I wanted to see if I could get to him and put an end to all of this myself. But he never leaves that damn building."

"He's—" Her voice caught. "It's Aldus. Archangel's Aldus."

"Who?"

"He was on Palaven when we. . .he was keeping guard at the school. He refused to come. He stayed behind to fight and. . ."

Lantar looked back at her for a moment. "You saw his face? How is that possible?" He asked quietly. "He survived?"

She sank further into the seat. "No, I don't think he did."

Their ride moved without disturbance, save for the turbulence of avoiding traffic. "Where are we going?" She asked.

"I know another way out. Found it back in the old days."

"Thank you for helping me."

He shrugged. "Least I could do."

She watched through the car's rear window, keeping track of any vehicles that might have followed them, paranoid of any cracked windows that might reveal a gun.

Aldus.

Her living nightmare had come full circle. He was alive—or at least, something in between alive and dead—and he came after her. His face. . .he hadn't been fully converted to a Marauder yet, but the organic material that made him a turian was mostly gone. There had to be more beneath his armor. The Reapers were all killed—including the Marauders. For Aldus to survive, he had to still be mostly turian. Not that it mattered.

Really, was anything he said untrue? She abandoned him, with all the rest, to their fates. Even though it was foolish, she always harbored some naive hope that perhaps they had been overlooked by the Reapers, or that they somehow stayed out of their reach long enough for Shepard to save them. Now she could no longer fool herself. They were all gone.

A sudden shift downward mercifully broke her line of thought. They landed on an empty patch of ground that appeared after the metal surface ended, as if civilization stopped and they stood at its line. When they got out, Lantar pointed down an alleyway. "We can get out through there. There's an old tunnel that goes up to the slums. Hope you're not afraid of the dark."

She weighed her next words very carefully in her mind. "I spoke to Garrus. I know about what happened. . .when he was Archangel. About your team."

Lantar's eyes widened slightly before he looked away.

"Is it true?" She asked. Garrus could have been mistaken, or exaggerating. She wanted to hear it from Lantar himself.

"It's true. Completely." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I killed them all. And then I ran. From him. The Blue Suns bragged about his death, but I didn't believe it for a second. I lived in constant fear of him catching up to me. Every night, I dreamed of seeing myself through his scope, taking aim, and firing. I would jump out of bed and cower for a moment before calming down. But even that. . .that held nothing to the regret."

"But he caught up to you, right?"

"Yes. On the Citadel, in public, where I thought I was safest. If it wasn't for Commander Shepard, I wouldn't have survived the encounter. I still don't know if I should have." He turned his head up and looked at her again, though still not at her eyes. "So there it is."

"But why? Why did you do it?"

"The same reason why I've ever done anything: Because I was scared. Scared, and too pathetic to do anything but find the coward's way out. The Blue Suns captured me and in exchange for my life I told them where to find our hideout. There's no noble justification or extenuating circumstance that I can latch onto to make myself feel better. It was mindless self-preservation and nothing else."

She looked at him for a long time, trying to make a judgment, or make a judgment about making a judgment. "You've never seemed scared to me," she said finally. "Except for when Garrus had you before, you've been one of the bravest people I've ever known."

"A death wish can eliminate a lot of fear. But I was—am—still terrified of your brother."

"Why didn't you just tell me before? Why didn't he?"

He looked at her eyes again. "I don't know why he didn't, but. . .well, maybe we both had the same reason."

"Which is?"

"I. . .greatly value your respect. I didn't want to lose it." He scoffed. "Another coward's way out, I suppose. So, what happens now?"

She looked down the alley. "I'm not afraid of the dark," she said. "But. . .I really don't want to be alone. Not after this."

"Is the company of a murderer much better?"

"Unless you're planning to kill me, I'll take anything at this point."

She started for the alley, but Lantar grabbed her hand. "Solana. This—all of this—is my fault. I don't want to run anymore. But I'm still scared. Before I met you, your brother was the bravest person I'd ever met. When I was afraid, I'd sort of 'borrow' his courage and somehow make it through. If you're willing to keep me around. . .can I borrow your courage too?"

He didn't let go of her hand. She was closest to him since her first impulsive embrace; it felt like he wanted to repeat that moment, and maybe she did too, but he made no further move. He just looked her in the eyes, unblinking, like a man on trial awaiting his verdict and sentence: patient and calm on the outside, turmoil and despair inside.

Spirits help her, but despite what he said, she kept trying to find justification for him. She didn't want to find him guilty.

"Yes," she said. "If you can find any. But I'm scared too."

He smiled sadly. "That's fine with me."

He let go of her hand and followed her into the darkness.


	25. A New Perspective

**Shepard**

 

“So every time he dies, they just replace the actor and keep going?” 

“Yep,” Joker said, scrolling through an extranet article while simultaneously piloting the ship. Shepard tried to keep safety protocols out of his mind. “That’s how the show’s still running after all these years. The current lead’s a salarian, which pissed off the diehard fanboys who think he should stay human, but that’s nothing compared to when they made him Scottish.”

They had made the final Relay jump and were set to arrive at Jamone in thirty minutes. Shepard had gone over his plan with Vega and Joker and now was stuck in the anxious time before the mission could begin.

“So, Joker, do you enjoy your new crewmates?”

“Well, they’re not exactly ‘new’ now that I’ve been flying with them for a while, but yeah, we get along. None of them can banter quite as well as the classic gang, though.”

Shepard nodded, barely listening. He kept thinking of the batarian in the main battery. What was his name? Kramer? He’d managed to avoid speaking to him for the duration of the flight, but he would have to acknowledge his presence sooner or later. “Later” being the preferred choice.

“You’re thinking about Karam, aren’t you?” Joker said.

He just shrugged.  
  
“Sorry, Shepard, but since you’re not my commanding officer anymore, I feel like I can safely say this: You’re a bit racist.” 

Shepard nearly spluttered. “What?! That’s ridiculous!”

“Well, just to batarians, but still.” 

“I am _not_ —that’s just—!”

Joker just smiled and blinked at him, smug bastard.

“Okay, so I get on edge around batarians, sure. Can you honestly say I have no reason to be? They killed my family, for god’s sake! I was attacked by two of them not two weeks ago! Add to that the Skyllian Blitz, the slavery, the constant antagonizing of the Council space—“

“Right, nobody can antagonize the Council but you!” Joker shook his head. “Yes, humans and batarians don’t exactly have a rosy history, and you least of all among humans, but come on, Shepard; you’ve fought people from every race at some point or another: slavers, pirates, robots, politicians. Humans and turians fought eachother the moment they first met, and no, turians didn’t kill your family and I wouldn’t expect you to be comfortable around them if they had, but. . .”

“But what?”

“You’re _Commander Shepard._ You’re supposed to be this bastion of reason and sensibility among us stupid, racist mortals! You know that any race could have attacked Mindoir and Illium proves that batarians don’t have a monopoly on slavery. Even if they had, their home planet is gone and their way of life is dead. For better or worse, they’re in the same position as the quarians were six years ago—and I remember a certain Commander who thought mistrust of quarians was disgusting.”

He looked out Joker’s window at the void. If he was being held up as an ideal moral standard, the galaxy was doomed. “I still don’t think it’s the same. The quarians hadn’t done anything to earn the hatred other people set on them.”

“Except create a hostile artificial intelligence that had the ability to multiply and threaten galactic stability for the next three hundred years, _after_ the quarians tried to exterminate them and then altered historical records to make themselves seem like the good guys in that whole situation, no, they hadn’t.” He sighed. “Regardless, just give the guy a chance, eh? He might surprise you.”

“When did you get so. . .” Shepard waved his hand in the air as he tried to think of the word. “. . .advice-y?”

“Falling in love with an AI has a weird way of opening your mind. Who’da thunk?” 

Shepard digested that for a moment. “Hey, I’m sorry about EDI. The original, I mean.”

Joker sighed. “Yeah, well. Everybody’s lost someone. I guess my turn was overdue. You know what the worst part of it was? How quick it happened. Like, she was there one second, and then she wasn’t. I didn’t even know she was gone until I landed the ship and looked up. Death should be a drawn-out, dramatic thing like in the vids, where everyone gets a chance to say goodbye. Not instantaneous.”

EDI’s light popped up next to Joker. “Cheer up, Jeff. You still have me.”

“That’s hardly a reason to be cheery, you chair-hijacking son of a—“

The cabin doors opened. Vega waved Shepard out into the CIC.

“We’re getting close,” Vega said. “Are you sure you want to go by yourself? You don’t know what’s waiting for you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know who’ll be watching. Me visiting my in-laws at the hospital won’t be conspicuous; me visiting them with an armed squad will, and if the hostile finds out we’re coming. . .”

Vega made an irritated noise, his arms crossed like a child trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. “I don’t know. Still think you should have backup. How about this: we drop someone off to go ahead of you, they wait in the lobby for a few minutes, and then we send you in like normal? That way, nobody who might be watching could know you’re together and you’ll have someone right there in case things go south.”

“That’s. . .actually a decent idea. Okay. Who you gonna send?”

“You want me to pick?”

“You know the crew, you know who’d be best.”

“Okay. Karam.”

Shepard winced. He was afraid of that, but he didn’t actually expect Vega to pick him.

Vega held up his hands. “I know, I know; I’ve heard it all from the admirals already. But I trust Karam with my life, and he’s even saved it a couple of times. You want the best guy for the job, it’s him.”

 _Great. Even Vega thinks I'm a racist._  Shepard took a deep, bracing breath, then swallowed his reservations. They were on the same team, on the same ship; it wasn’t the first time he had to work with someone less than ideal, after all. He couldn’t let his personal feelings put them at risk.

Besides, the batarian probably wouldn’t have to do anything.

“All right. He can go ahead. But he can’t go in armed, at least not noticeably.”

“No problem there; guy’s more of a techie anyway. He uses tech armor like it’s biotics.”

“So why’d you bring him on in the first place? Out of curiosity.”

“I bumped into him on a pirate raid a few years ago. He helped us get in their base unnoticed and we took out their leader; saved a lot of time and lives in the process. He wanted to come along, so I asked Hackett for a favor and here we are.”

“But what’s his story? Why does he want to be here in the first place?”

Vega shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him. I don’t dig quite as deep into my crew’s personal lives as you did. Don’t know how you always found the time to make conversation with everyone and do your work. I just know he’s good at what he does and he’s proven himself; that’s enough for me.”

Joker’s voice projected through the intercom. “Getting ready to approach Jamone’s atmosphere, Commander.”

Vega hopped to and started giving orders. Shepard took the elevator down to the shuttle bay to prepare the equipment he’d need. Hopefully they weren’t too late.

 

* * *

 

**Solana**

The small bit of light from their omni-tools lit just a few feet around them. Solana had to watch her step for rocks, metal, and old debris as they went through.

Most of the trip through the tunnel was made in silence, except for when Lantar pointed out a bad step or low ceiling ahead. Her neck and shoulder bothered her immensely, a distinctive pain radiating from where Aldus had grabbed her before. She hoped it was just a sprain; a pinched nerve or, worse, cervical misalignment would require surgery to fix.

“Your neck all right?” Lantar said behind her. “You’ve been rubbing at it a lot. I have some medi-gel if you—“ 

“I’m fine.” Her voice came out more short than she meant it to. “I’ve already used medi-gel. I don’t think it’s going to help.”

“Ah. You know, you’re rather prone to injury? Your leg, your shoulder, your neck. . .danger follows you.”

“Yes, well. I only seem to get injured when you’re around.”

She meant it as a joke, but Lantar’s voice dropped. “Yes, I guess I do have that effect on people.”

She sighed. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“The whole, ‘I’m terribly depressed about my tragic past’ thing. I don’t need it right now.”

“Sorry. What _do_ you need?”

The tunnel’s features gradually became more visible She saw the other end approaching. “I’m getting the hell off this station,” she said.

She heard Lantar’s feet grind to a sudden halt behind her. “What?”

“I shouldn’t even be here. I got caught up in something I didn’t understand, and now I’m getting out of it.

“But. . .what about Archangel? He’ll kill Aria and take Omega if we don’t do anything!”

“What do I care what happens to this place? To Aria? Hell, if Aldus can improve Omega in her place, maybe he should have it. I just want to go back to how things were.”

“But you’re a part of it now!”

They reached the opening and emerged behind a building, the area clear and private. She breathed in the “fresh” air and opened her omni-tool. For the hundredth time, she tried to call Garrus. He still didn’t answer. Neither did her father.

“I’ve done enough, Lantar. So have you.” She faced him and, to her surprise, he seemed hurt. Angry, almost.

“I’m not leaving,” he said. “This is the closest place I’ve ever had to a home. I still see value in it, even if you don’t.”

“You can’t beat him by yourself!”

“No, I can’t! That’s why I want—need—your help! _We_ can beat him, Solana; we know more about him than anyone else.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Your brother was with a group earlier. Could they help us?”

“You’d go to _Garrus_ for help?”

“It’s looking like that’s my only option. And if there’s anyone in the galaxy who can stop the new Archangel, it’s the old one.” He bowed his head. “He won’t listen to me, Solana. Hell, he’ll probably just kill me. But he’ll listen to you.”

“This is—aaargh!” She kicked a rock and inadvertently triggered a biotic shockwave that obliterated it in midair. She spun on her heels and pointed at Lantar. “I’ll take you to the group and explain what’s going on, but Garrus is off-world now and I can’t reach him. Frankly, I don’t if _I_ should even be listening to you.”

She regretted saying it, but it was too late to take it back. His face puffed out angrily at her. “Then why are you still here?”

“Because. . .because you still saved me and dad, and now I owe you for saving me again. But as soon as I’m able, I’m getting off this rock, understand?” 

She opened her omni-tool again, this time calling Caelon. “We got everything,” he said as soon as he picked up. “You _know_ the guy? Nevermind, we’ll talk about it later. You and Sidonis get back here and we’ll regroup.”

“Wait—how do you know about Sidonis?”

“I told you: we got everything. Including the stuff after Archangel or Aldus or whoever.”

She slapped her palm against her forehead. “Damn it. All right.”

She turned off the omni-tool and sighed, stilling her nerves. _What am I doing here?_ Sidonis looked like he calmed down as well.

He’d admitted everything to her. On Palaven or any turian-controlled colony, he’d be hanged without question. Even accidentally leading a squad to their deaths was a major offense; deliberately betraying them? Just to save himself? How could she trust someone like that?

 _It didn’t matter before._ She trusted him with her life right until that point, and he always came through. He was the same person then—she just knew more about him now.

Regardless of how she felt, right now she had no choice.

“Do you know where we can get a cab around here?” She asked him finally.

He nodded. “Follow me.”

He walked ahead, and she followed.

 

* * *

 

**Shepard**

Karam was to go first and wait in the hall near Pallin’s room. Shepard stood just an inch taller than him in the shuttle bay. He could see the thick little hairs growing around Karam’s mouth and eyes. He reminded himself that Vega’s plan made sense; if nothing else, nobody would expect him to be working with a batarian.

“I hope you know how to shoot a gun, not just fix it.”

Karam grunted. “I can shoot just fine.”

“I suppose having two sets of eyes help.”

“Not as much as you’d think. Excellent depth perception, but shitty hand-eye coordination.”

“So what brings you on an Alliance ship?”

Karam shrugged. “It’s the Normandy. Alliance or not, it’s a big deal.”

“So you’re here for the recognition?”

“No. I’m here because I saved Commander Vega’s ass, and he happened to be the Commander of the Normandy.”

“Why’d you save him?”

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”

“I like to know who I’m working with.”

Karam blinked all four eyes and grinned, his sharp teeth striking a menacing cord in Shepard’s memory. “I’m from Kar’shan, like most homeless batarians. I was rich before the Reapers showed up—very big deal in batarian society. Human, too, from what I can tell. But now we have no economy to speak of, so I was broke when Vega picked me up.”

“Did you own slaves?”

“Yes, several. Not humans, though. Humans slaves weren’t considered ‘high class;’ usually, only poorer batarians owned them.”

Shepard snorted. “How noble.”

“Yes. Now I’m helping you. Strange how things go sometimes.”

“I take it I wasn’t Kar’shan’s most popular figure.”

“Oh, you were like a strange, foreign pop star to us. The Hegemony didn’t allow much news from outside our own star systems to reach us, so we were mostly ignorant of your existence until after the Citadel was attacked. After that, many of us thought you were an interesting human figure; the human slaves liked you, and we thought that was quaint. You better believe we knew of you after the Bahak System was destroyed. You went from pop star to terrorist real quick.”

“I tried to save that system.”

“I know; Vega explained it to me. Most batarians know now too. Believe it or not, I don’t actually hate you. I just think you’re overrated and out of shape.”

The Normandy descended, and the shuttle bay doors opened. A gust of air and noise greeted them as they hovered right above the ground. Karam winked two eyes at Shepard and they both hopped off, Karam making for the hospital while Shepard stayed behind with his pistol.

 

* * *

 

**Garrus**

“Are you sure?”

Solana’s voice, far more strained and exhausted than it was before he left, answered through the omni-tool. “Completely. It was Aldus. And he said he’s going after mom and dad. Where the hell are you?”

He dragged his hand across his eyes. He should have told her. The shuttle creaked along at an agonizingly slow pace, and he was helpless to do anything but sit and wait for news from John. Good news, he hoped.

“I’m on it, don’t worry. What’s important now is that you regroup with Zaeed and the others.”

“What do you mean, you’re ‘on it’? You _knew_? And you went off without me?”

“I couldn’t—“

“No, stop, whatever. I’m sure you have your reasons. But you owe me for this. Remember that.”

Her voice contained something else—something he didn’t like. Like she was hiding something. “Sol? Did something else happen you’re not telling me?”  
  
A long, empty moment passed. He thought he heard movement on the other end of the line. A man’s voice?

“. . .Nothing important. Just get back here soon, okay?”

They hung up. Garrus sniffed. She was definitely hiding something. Well, he _did_ owe her; that much was true.

He opened up his omni-tool again, but this time he accessed his old files copied from the C-Sec database. C-Sec was destroyed, but Garrus had long-since downloaded a wealth of information in case he ever needed it—a move that was highly illegal and likely would have gotten him a life sentence, if he had been caught. He searched for any files on Aldus, but there was nothing useful. He typed in a number.

“Victus,” answered the other line.

“Afternoon, Primarch,” Garrus said to the second-most powerful turian in the galaxy. “I need a favor.”

“Wha—Vakarian? How did you get my personal line?”

“I’ve had it since the War. About that favor? I need access to any surviving pre-War civilian databases. Concentrate on Cipritine for now and I’ll let you know if I need more.”

“Even if I could get that information—“

“All due respect, sir, you owe me, and that information could mean life or death for my family. I’ll make sure Shepard knows you helped me when I needed it.”

He heard Victus _harumph_ on the other line. “Most Primarchs would have you arrested for addressing them in that tone, boy. Good thing for you that you’re right. I’ll gather what I can and send it to you, but I had better not find it on some extranet website or you _will_ be hanged, understood, soldier?”

Garrus smiled. He liked Victus as Primarch, though most would disagree. He knew when the rules had to be bent just so. “Yes, Primarch. And thank you, sir.”

He hung up and noticed the volus passenger in the next seat was staring at him. He winked and settled back into his seat. A few minutes later his omni-tool notified him that the files were received; he started going through, searching for any references to an “Aldus.” At least he would have something to make him feel productive until John called. Hopefully with good news.

 

* * *

 

**Shepard**

On his way to the hospital, he took a few minutes practicing his draw, bringing out his pistol to focus on an arbitrary target, like a tree or a spot on the ground. His fingers moved as quickly as they used to, hitting the spots he picked about eight times out of ten. In his heyday, he could shoot almost as well as Garrus (better, actually, but Garrus didn’t need to know that), hitting the same spot on the same target multiple times in a row. He was out of practice, but not completely regressed into a novice. Good enough.  

The hospital doors opened, not into a scene of gunfire and chaos as he half expected, but the typical, sterile activity the hospital always had, with omni-tools flashing and computers beeping and the occasional patient bed being wheeled through. Keeping his hand on his pistol, Shepard took the elevator up to his in-laws’ floor. Karam sat in the waiting room just across the hall; they each gave a quick nod.

The door to his parents’ room was closed. A large, red “Do not disturb” sign, complete with the universal symbol for hazardous materials, was on the front. He approached it slowly, as though whatever was on the other side might hear him coming too fast.

A salarian orderly stopped him. “They’re with the doctor, sir.”

“Which doctor?”

“I don’t know, not my room. But that sign means patients and their doctor only. If you’ll wait over in the waiting room. . .”

Shepard tapped his pistol, and the orderly noticed it apparently for the first time. Shepard stared at the salarian until he raised his hands and backed up. “Or not. I just work here.”

Shepard unhooked the gun and slowly pushed the door open. The first thing he saw was Xenafor on the bed, exactly as she had ever been. He couldn’t tell from here whether she was alive or dead.

Opening the room up entirely, he saw Pallin on his bed, his face marked with dried blood where it had been cut several times. His left hand was tied to the bed. At the foot of the bed, a turian in a doctor’s lab coat silently looked over a chart. He looked up when Shepard casually stepped in, keeping his gun behind him.

Pallin groaned and turned toward him. His eyes went wide. “Shepard--!”

Shepard smiled and interrupted, taking a few more steps into the room, his eyes on the “doctor.” “Pallin, if you don’t stop calling me ‘Shepard,’ I might start calling _you_ ‘Dad.’”

He pulled his gun and fired at the stranger, sending the gun he pulled flying out of his hand. Without a sound, the turian tossed his coat and barreled for Shepard, his eyes frenzied and mouth open in a silent snarl. Shepard fired again, hitting the turian in the weak point of his armor, where the shoulder connected with the breastplate. He might as well have hit a rock, from the way his attacker reacted; he ignored the now bloody spot pooling up on his arm and lunged for Shepard’s neck. He swiped the gun out of Shepard’s hand with enough force to break the bone of an average human, but Shepard had enough cybernetic implants in him to survive a ten-story fall. He grabbed the turian’s shoulders, keeping a solid grip through the blood, and the turian grabbed his arms in turn; they grappled in a deadlock for several seconds. So close to his opponent’s face, Shepard saw wild glee in the turian’s eyes, as if he enjoyed every second regardless of whether he was winning or losing. He still made no sound at all—no grunts, growls, or shouts to indicate a living voice behind that face. Perhaps there was none.

A light blinked in Shepard’s peripheral vision. “Over here, asshole,” his mother-in-law’s VI calmly said.

His opponent’s gaze darted to the VI, and Shepard took advantage of the distraction to flip him overhead in a toss. The turian crashed onto the ground hard enough to shake the hospital equipment, but he rolled to his feet as quickly as Shepard did. The turian looked over Shepard’s shoulder as Karam entered the room, gun fixed at the turian’s head.

“Took you long enough,” Shepard said.

“I thought you were handling it pretty well.”

The turian, apparently uninterested in Karam or his weapon, activated his omni-tool.

“Wouldn’t do that!” Karam shouted. His tech armor shone over his metal and mesh armor like a holographic second coating. “Hold your ass still.”

The turian punched a few commands into his omni-tool all the same, his mad eyes on Shepard’s. Karam fired a shot, hitting the turian’s left hand and disrupting the omni-tool, but the bastard just smiled.

Then the omni-tool began to blink. Red flashes with loud, frantic bursts of noise. The turian looked Shepard in the eyes and his mouth gaped open in a hideous cackle.

Shepard took a step forward, but Karam was quicker. The batarian tackled the still-laughing turian into the window, cracking it, then activated his tech armor. A crackling burst of energy radiated from Karam as his armor dispelled, strong enough to knock over Shepard and hospital equipment, and push the turian out of the window. Shepard could still hear him laughing as he fell for just a second—then he felt the explosion.

Lights went out. The whole building shook. He heard shouts from outside their room and the twinkling of millions of shards of shattered glass hitting the ground outside. As the dust settled, he crept carefully along the floor before he realized that, if the building’s structural integrity was seriously compromised, just his walking wouldn’t collapse the entire hospital. He got up and found Karam against the wall opposite where the windows used to be, panting, but alive. Pallin and Xenafor’s beds were turned over; Xenafor lay crumpled and unmoving, and Pallin groaned, still bound to his.

A salarian doctor entered the room, his coat ragged and his big eyes constantly darting to and fro. “Everyone okay in here?”

“Help me,” Shepard said as he stood Xenafor’s bed upright. The doctor looked at her body for a long moment as they bent to lift her. “Is she--?”

“Corpalis,” Shepard said, then the doctor nodded, needing no further explanation. They set her on the bed and the doctor checked her vitals while Shepard untied Pallin. The bands were even tighter than they had appeared; Pallin’s wrists and ankles were rubbed raw and purple, and his midsection. . .

“I’m fine,” he growled when he saw Shepard staring at the triangular shape of wings and a pair of horizontal bars burned into the natural plating of Pallin’s chest. He’d seen it often enough on Garrus’ old suit of armor: it was the Archangel insignia. Dried blood caked the edges in purplish-brown stains.

Groaning and rubbing his wrists, Pallin stood on rickety legs. “I guess he wanted to leave a message on my corpse. He pointed my wife at me so she could watch.” He hobbled to Xenafor’s bed as the doctor stood. 

Shepard extended a hand to Karam, who accepted without argument. He wobbled a bit as he stood; the front of his armor was singed slightly from the blast, having had no shield protection after detonating the tech armor, but he didn’t appear seriously injured.

“First time blowing up a hospital,” the batarian muttered. “We’re not leaning, are we? I feel like we’re leaning.”

Shepard stood Pallin’s bed up and sat Karam on it. “You did good,” he said, meaning it. “You pretty much saved all of us. Thank you.”

The doctor drew himself up, and all eyes went to him for a report. “She’s been knocked around, but she’ll live. What the hell happened?”

Pallin grinned, but even moving his mandibles seemed exhausting. “My son-in-law,” he croaked, just before passing out.

* * *

 

**Drineax**

Fuck, his hand hurt. The multi-pack of medi-gel he dumped on it did  _nothing._ He rubbed at his bandaged hand like it was a baby, except a baby wouldn't be part of him and a baby wouldn't hurt like fuck and a baby would just scream and he'd probably just kill it. He looked sadly at the knife on the table, its blade all twisted up as the bullet that struck him (or "grazed" him, whatever) left it, forever unusable. 

All things considered, everything probably happened for the best. He really didn't want to kill Solana; killing the pretty ones was just tragic, and traitorous bitch or no, he still liked her. And now Azrael--it had to have been Azrael who helped her--was out of the picture too. Win-win. 

But what she said to him still dug at the back of his mind like a little brain-dwelling thresher maw. " _He killed Gavorn,"_ she'd said. 

It was impossible, or a trick of some kind. He would have known if Gavorn had died, just as the rest of them would know if  _he_ died. And why would Archangel kill his own people anyway? 

As if the universe was responding to his thoughts, his omni-tool flashed an alarm that could only mean one thing: Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Michael was dead.

Uh-oh.

Archangel stormed into the common room before Drineax could sneak out, snarling and shouting all over again. Drineax sighed inwardly. The man had just calmed down after the previous debacle, too. Nothing to do but stand at attention while his boss freaked out. He ignored the small shudder building up in his own chest. If Michael was dead, then how would that impact their mission? What if Gavorn really was--? No, he wouldn't freak out too. Someone had to keep a level head.

When Archangel was done, he got up close to Drineax, so close he could smell his helmet. "The plan's been moved up," Archangel said, as if he didn't just get word that one of his best men was dead.

"What happened?" Drineax asked. About a thousand different ways to ask that question, but it seemed best to keep the sarcasm down right now. He only got a growl in response. 

"It doesn't matter," Archangel finally said, when he decided to communicate in words instead of onomatopoeia. "We'll have to move sooner, but the plan is the same. There's nothing they can do now."

Archangel filled him in on the plan, and the sheer brilliance of it was enough to remind Drineax why he followed this crazy bastard in the first place. Sucked that Michael died, but he crept Drineax out anyway; it wasn't like the guy made a lot of friends. 

Still that nagging thought, though.

When Archangel finished, Drineax decided to risk a question. Questions were his thing, after all. 

"Where is Gavorn?"

He didn't move as he asked, but Archangel froze in place, and he could feel that man's gaze through his visor. "Raphael is dead," Archangel finally said.

The shuddering began in his chest again, and this time he wasn't sure he could keep it down. "What? But why didn't--how--?"

"He died doing what was right, for our cause, Gabriel. Do not waste his death on a fruitless search for answers. Not when we're so close."

Suddenly his hand no longer hurt so much. The shuddering spread from his chest to his shoulders. "Did you kill him?" His voice was much quieter than he would have liked, but it took all his strength. In his head he repeated his mantra over and over:  _Don't freak out Don't freak out Don't freak out Don't. . ._

Archangel spread his hands. "If I had, would it change my answer? His death brought us this far. It had meaning, just as Michael's death had meaning." He put his arms down, his hand twitching near his pistol. "Do you take an issue with my methods, Gabriel?"

He pushed his anger down with a final shove that left him feeling physically tired. He couldn't kill Archangel, not even if he wanted to and had the ability; they  _were_ so close, and everything they had done had to have a reason behind it. It just had to. 

"No, sir," he said at last. Archangel nodded, then left without another word.

When he was gone, Drineax collapsed on the couch, his mind filled with a lot of dangerous thoughts. He chuckled to himself. At least his hand didn't hurt anymore.


	26. Good News, for Once

**Shepard**

Once his in-laws were checked on, Shepard could survey the damage. The bomb had blown out the windows on a fair chunk of the building's eastern facade, and the metal and concrete exterior appeared burnt and slightly warped just below the floor they were on. There was no body to be found, of course. The building held its ground, but all but the most severely ill patients were evacuated to cots and tents hastily set up about a hundred feet away. Doctors carried heavy-looking equipment meant to save or prolong lives, and several tents were sealed in plastic for emergency surgical procedures.

The Normandy stood about fifty yards away, its hangar bay open. The crew shared what medical supplies they could spare, and the occasional patient gawked at the legendary ship, pointing and asking whether it was real.

Xenafor's VI was put on a battery, and that was why she said she didn't talk much, but Shepard thought it might be because of the amount of pain she received from her shock. A little fall from a bed wouldn't mean anything to him, but to someone whose muscles were long-since atrophied from lack of use, such a small impact could kill—or severely bruise, at least. Still, she never complained.

Once he woke, Pallin never left her side. He was shirtless, with a thick layer of bandages around his chest. The wounds would be simple enough to heal with cosmetic surgery, but they would need to be back in a hospital first. The doctors said he had passed out from sheer exhaustion—apparently, the perp didn't allow him to sleep, in addition to the rest of the torture.

"She never spoke while he was there," he said, beaming with pride in his wife. "She kept completely silent. Made him think she couldn't communicate at all. Ha! Did you see how he jumped when that damned thing popped up like an ad!"

"Yeah, we'd all be dead if not for her." He winked at Xenafor, and though she of course gave no reaction, he thought he saw an amused glimmer in her eye.

"I'd like to think I helped," Karam said. He no longer limped from before, but he said his chest hurt like a shipful of rocks dropped on it.

Shepard shrugged. "Not bad for shitty hand-eye coordination, I suppose." He kept his voice as nonchalant as possible. Truth was, they'd be dead without him, too. "Thank you. I mean it."

Karam looked away and cleared his throat. "I'm gonna get back to the Normandy."

"I'm right behind you," Shepard said. There wasn't anything else he could do here, and besides, he had a lot of business to take care of.

Pallin straightened up and turned to glare at Shepard. He wasn't going to like this, he knew.

"I'm coming with you," Pallin said, as though telling a secretary he was leaving the office for the night.

Xenafor's VI blinked awake immediately. "You can not, Pallin," it said.

"She's right," Shepard said. "You've just been through hell, and—"

"Which is exactly why I need to go. You're going after him, aren't you?"

Shepard nodded. "Yes, and I promise he'll get what's coming to him, but you were just in a hospital bed. You can't possibly—"

"I was serving on ships before you were even thought of, _boy._ And this isn't about vengeance, not entirely. The one who sent that animal is after both of my kids. I should have been hunting him down from the beginning."

"You've _been in the hospital,_ Dad, and—" He stopped himself short, realizing what he said without thinking. Pallin's mandibles clicked in-annoyance?-but he didn't otherwise acknowledge being called "Dad" by accident.

"And I'm fully recovered now, save for a flesh wound, and I'm not debating this."

Behind Shepard, Vega cleared his throat. "Perhaps the _Commander_ should be consulted on who will be on his ship?" He beamed at them both as they stood at attention.

"Commander Vega," Pallin began, "I request permission to—"

Vega held up his hand. "Granted. You can come."

"Then I am coming too," said Xenafor.

All eyes turned on her. Even Pallin looked shocked. But the VI said nothing more.

Vega scratched his head. "I don't know, Ma'am. That doesn't sound like a good—"

"Your pilot, Joker," the VI said, somehow insistent despite its unchanging tone. "He is also crippled, yes? What is one more cripple for the Normandy?"

Vega gave Shepard an apologetic look. "I am so gonna get sued. Fine, but you will remain in the med bay for the entire duration, and if our doctor says anything appears to be harming you, I'll be dropping you off at the nearest hospital. Understood?"

"Yes." The VI winked out. Pallin grunted. "I'll put on some clothes and come aboard immediately."

When he was gone, Shepard grabbed Vega by the arm—a tad harder than he intended, though it would take more than that to hurt the large man—and pulled him away from the tent. "What are you doing?"

Vega shrugged. "Pallin seems in fighting shape to me, and if I don't bring him along then I suspect he'll hijack some other ship and go to Omega himself. You think he won't?"

Shepard looked to where his father-in-law—he couldn't believe he called him "Dad" for real; that was supposed to be a joke—was already dressed and preparing Xenafor to be carried aboard.

"Didn't expect her to be as stubborn as he is, though," Vega said quietly. "I bet she can even give you a run for your money in stubbornness. Man, if I had a disease like that, you'd have to put me on suicide watch every day for the rest of my life."

"She might kill herself yet, coming on our ship."

Vega nodded. "Yes, well. We'll see what Dr. Nest says. I was serious about that part."

Shepard gave a long, frustrated sigh. Garrus was going to _kill_ him when he found out.

He jumped as if shocked in the ass, startling Vega as well. Garrus! "Oh, shit," he said to Vega. "Need to make a call!"

He ran out of the tent, ignoring Vega's confused cries.

* * *

**Garrus**

His parents were dead, John possibly along with them, and he was going to have to explain to Solana why they were now orphans.

He shook his head, pushing the surge of panic out of his mind. He opened the files Victus sent him again, searching for any references to an "Aldus," and coming up short like he had a hundred times before. But why else would John take so long to call? The files scrolled in front of his face without his eyes registering what they said, and he closed the datapad again. His feet tapped violently beneath his seat. The volus passenger had skirted to the far edge of his spot away from Garrus, as though putting distance between himself and a bomb.

He could call John. But what if John was in a sensitive situation? His call could alert enemies, or distract John in a firefight for just long enough to be shot. At best, he'd be ignored. He would just have to wait until John called, or—or he went to Jamone himself.

He jumped in his seat when his omni-tool beeped, and his fingers fumbled so quickly that he nearly forgot how to open the damn thing. "John? What's happened? Is everything—"

"We're fine," John said on the other end. It was the greatest two words Garrus ever heard him utter, except for _marry me._ "There was some. . .um. . .collateral damage, and your parents did get a little beat up in the process, but everyone's okay."

"And the perp?"

"Dead. Very dead."

Garrus sank into his seat, not caring how ridiculous it looked for a turian to relax so visibly, and breathed for the first time in hours.

"We're heading out," John said. "We'll be en route to you shortly. Also, um. . ."

"What?"

"Nothing. I love you."

Garrus peered into his omni-tool as if he'd be able to see John's face at the other end. Solana was one thing, but his husband wasn't allowed to keep secrets. "I love you, too. You sure everything's okay?" They had code words and phrases in the event they needed to discreetly communicate danger to one-another. A bit of paranoia was useful for people in their circumstances.

"Yep." That was not one of them. "Everything's fine on this end. Gotta go, the ship's taking off. See you soon."

Whatever secrets John held, Garrus sat back, feeling a hundred pounds lighter. It was nice to have some good news to relay to Solana for a change.

* * *

**Solana**

The group had holed up in an old house near the slums; apparently, the owner had been "happy" to let Zaeed Massani and his group stay, just before they fled. After debriefing Zaeed and the others, answering their questions about Sidonis and Aldus to the best of her ability, Solana took the opportunity to nurse her neck—it was feeling somewhat better now, thankfully—and relax.

Zaeed snickered when Sidonis awkwardly introduced himself to the group, but otherwise, there was no problem or indication that anyone cared for the details about his and Garrus' past. That was a good thing. There would be plenty of time for problems once Garrus returned. She wasn't looking forward to being caught in the middle of that. Thanks to her, though, they did know they had a past; there would be questions for her later.

She laid back on the bed, grateful not to have to set her neck on the ground, and closed her eyes.

Her omni-tool beeped, as if it had been waiting for her to get comfortable. When she saw that it was Garrus calling, though, she quickly answered.

"Mom and dad are fine," Garrus said quickly. "We got to them in time. Well, John did."

She deflated as some of her worry left her mind. "That's great news. Are you sure they're safe?"

"Completely. The guy Archangel sent is dead. I'm going to join up with John soon and then we're going to finish the job. You and the others just lay low until we get there."

She sat up at that. "Honestly, Garrus, I'd rather just get out of here. Everyone's been put in danger because of me; you, Shepard, our parents."

"We can't leave it now, Sol, and you know it. Especially now that we know Archangel—this Aldus—has a personal grudge against you."

She nodded, forgetting Garrus couldn't see her. "I know," she said. Aldus went after their parents once; he could do it again. There was no leaving it alone now.

The door to her room opened, and Lantar entered, holding a bag of ice. It must have been difficult to find; there was no freezer in the apartment, and she doubted the neighbors were the sharing type. He froze for a brief moment when he saw she was speaking, then quietly left the bag at the foot of her bed, pointing at his neck, and left.

"Are you there? Sol?" Garrus asked on the other line. She hadn't heard a word he'd said.

"I'm here. Listen, Garrus, I need to tell you something before you get here."

"What is it?"

She twiddled her fingers. "Um. Look, I want to preface this with a few things, so keep them in mind before you get mad."

"Okay. . ."

"There's someone here with me. With us, the team, I mean. First, he's saved my life multiple times, here and elsewhere. In fact, he saved me just yesterday from Aldus himself."

"Okay. Not mad so far."

"Yes, well. Secondly, he's very much on our side. He was fighting Aldus before we were."

"Is this Azrael, Sol? Because if it is, I know I scared him before, but I don't really see why I'd be mad at keeping him along. I mean, it was mostly just for show. . ."

"Well. . ." She sighed. She was too tired, too unwilling to have this conversation. "Yes, it's Azrael." She wasn't lying, after all. "Just try to keep a cool head when you see him, okay? That's all I ask."

"Okay. Fine. I'm the spitting image of cool heads."

She snickered. "Of course you are. Be careful, Garrus."

When they hung up, she picked up the bag of ice, smiling despite herself. Heat was what her neck needed, not cold; a cold compress would just give her a headache on top of everything else. But it was a nice gesture. She already felt a little better than before. She'd tell Lantar the ice helped.

* * *

**Shepard**

If Pallin was impressed by the Normandy, the ship that changed the lives of everyone he cared about and saved the entire galaxy from extinction, he didn't show it. Hands behind his back like a bored inspector, the turian glanced at the ship's equipment, quarters, and crew with barely any sign of interest. The only time he betrayed any concern for the workings of the ship was when Xenafor was situated in the med bay, on the bed next to Karam's, much to the chagrin of Doctor Nest, who went from no patients to two.

"Are you sure these beds can hold her comfortably in the middle of a Relay jump?" Pallin asked the salarian.

"Nah," Doctor Nest replied. "I was lying the other ten times you asked. In fact, I'm not even a real doctor!"

"That becomes more apparent by the moment."

"Look, I don't know how else to say it. The beds will keep her still in all conditions, unless we're shot at. I've performed facial surgery on patients who were lying unconscious on one of these beds, and you don't see anyone walking around here with half a nose, do you?" Nest scratched his chin. "Though I don't know why you insist on coming aboard," he said to Xenafor, as if he'd been talking to her the whole time. "The beds aren't famed for their comfort, and still or not, the artificial pressure isn't going to be kind to your muscles. But whatever!" He held up his hands in surrender. "I'm just a doctor; what do I know about medicine?"

Pallin didn't seem satisfied with that. Shepard quietly left them to their discussion.

He took the elevator to the bridge, where Vega was already waiting. Through the windows in Joker's cabin, he could see a relatively small shuttle in the distance. The one Garrus was on. They were finally within sight of eachother.

Joker pressed a few commands into his console. "Establishing a comm link. And. . .there!"

"Normandy to civilian shuttle," Vega said in his best authoritative tone. "Respond."

"Who's this?" a cranky voice answered.

"Are you the pilot of—"

"Of course I am, idiot, who else would I be? Who is this?"

"This is Commander Vega of the SSV Normandy. We—"

Shrieking laughter answered over the comm. Joker covered his ears at the sound.

"The Normandy! Look, punk, I get two or three of you bastards every trip, and I'll tell you what I tell the others: take whatever jalopy you're flyin' and go away!"

Shepard, Vega and Joker all looked at eachother. The shuttle probably wouldn't have any windows—too great a structural risk—and perhaps they wouldn't have the technology to read the Normandy's signature either.

Shepard cleared his throat. "Sir? This is Commander Shepard."

"Right, pal. And I'm the Empress of Orlais. Now, git!"

The comm shut off abruptly, leaving the three of them to stare out at the little ship putting through space.

Finally, Joker turned his seat to face them. "The Empress of what?"

Shepard shrugged.

* * *

**Garrus**

It was just too much. He laughed, a billowing noise that frightened even him, let alone the murmuring passengers around him. The poor volus next to him jumped right out of his seat.

"It's not _that_ funny," John said on the other line.

Oh, but it was.

He continued laughing as he got up, letting the mad cackle trickle down into a barely-suppressed giggle. He wiped tears out of his eyes just as he reached the pilot's door. Using his omni-tool to hack the door was easy; it slid open and Garrus met the two humans inside with a dead stare.

"What in the hell—" one began, then he stopped and gaped when he recognized Garrus Vakarian.

"I would _very much appreciate it,_ " Garrus said, trying not to laugh again, "if you would let _my husband_ dock his ship." He kept his omni-tool on for emphasis. The pilot, a bearded, wrinkled old man who had seen too many First Contact War dramas, gulped and nodded meekly as he turned on the ship's intercom.

"T-this is your pilot speaking. We'll just be making a routine maintenance stop real quick."

Garrus nodded his thanks, then returned to his seat as the shuttle came to a halt. He snickered to himself. He'd remember _this_ story for a long time yet.

* * *

**Shepard**

He waited just outside the airlock, trying his best not to seem like a kid waiting for his birthday presents. The airlock doors clicked, then opened, and he was finally with his husband again.

Garrus' mouth opened wide in a smile when he saw Shepard there, and when they embraced he held his head close for a kiss. Shepard felt Garrus' mandibles twitch against his lips. He felt a desperate, manic urge to kiss Garrus on the neck. If he did, though, there'd be no stopping; the whole crew would see him strip naked, and he wouldn't care.

"You look different," Garrus said when they finally, reluctantly, pulled away from eachother. "Not bad, mind, just different."

He ran a hand across what little hair had grown back since his body-swap. "You like it?" He asked, his voice a touch lower than he intended. God, he wanted him so bad.

"Of course," Garrus replied, his eyes locked onto Shepard's. "You know I always like the way you look."

Pallin cleared his throat from somewhere to Shepard's right, and they both turned to him. "I don't know what humans consider 'dignified,' but you could try to live up to some sort of standard, Garrus."

"Dad?!" Garrus looked between the two of them in shock, stopping at Shepard, who shrugged.

"I tried to leave him."

"You shouldn't be here," Garrus said to Pallin. "You should—"

"I should be where my family is," Pallin interrupted. "Right now, they're all here. Except Solana, which I plan to change shortly."

"But. . .wait. _Mom's_ here too?" He turned back to Shepard. He felt smaller under Garrus' gaze, and it wasn't just because he was half a foot shorter. "You brought them here?"

Shepard sighed. "Technically, Vega brought them here. . ."

Garrus' mandibles fluttered violently. "We'll talk about this later. In private." He turned back to his father. "What do you even expect to do, Dad?"

"Whatever I can," Pallin replied, and walked away as if that settled it. Garrus snarled. Shepard watched him like a tiger behind bars at the zoo, something fierce and majestic. He didn't care that Garrus was angry at him. He was just glad to be within touching distance again. Even if it would cost him his arm.

Garrus watched his father walked away, then his snarling suddenly stopped. He looked at Pallin's back quizzically, like something was off. "Is he. . .limping?" Garrus asked.

Shepard didn't notice anything different about Pallin's stride, but he never paid it that much notice in the first place. "He was banged up pretty bad, before."

Garrus snorted. "Which is why he shouldn't be here."

"He's had a bug up his ass ever since he got here, too," Shepard said, trying to coax the subject to safer space. "I don't know why."

Garrus looked at him like it was obvious. "His turian pride is wounded. He couldn't be there for us before, and then he got hurt, and what better way to make up for that than by going full drill sergeant on the Normandy?" He sniffed. "Pain in the ass. Speaking of. . ."

The elevator opened, and Vega cruised in, clearly proud of himself for getting them all together. "Garrus! Good to see you again, _amigo._ " When they shook hands, Shepard thought he saw Vega wince under Garrus' grip.

"Commander Vega," Garrus said amiably, "still sounds like a dancer from Omega. How about we talk about letting my enfeebled parents onto this particular ship?"

Vega looked back at Shepard helplessly as Garrus pulled him to the med bay. Shepard gave a remorseful smile. Garrus would let him live. Barely.


	27. A Brief Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love shall be tamed under my hand,  
> Though his arrows riddle me, though his flaming brand  
> Is waved in my face. The worse the wounds, the fiercer the burn,  
> The prompter I'll be to punish him in return." -- Ovid, The Art of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Highly explicit material ahead. (Heh, heh, he said...nevermind)

**Shepard**

The image of Admiral Hackett scowled at them from the terminal, his scarred face blurred somewhat from the hologram. "I heard about what happened on Jamone," he said casually. "Saw it on the news, in fact. Imagine my surprise when I saw the Normandy parked near a wrecked hospital, with headlines like 'Normandy present at hospital explosion.' Al-Jilani in particular was having a field day. She thinks Joker accidentally fired at the hospital during a drunken bender. When you return to Earth, I think we'll have a talk about unauthorized expeditions, Commander Vega."

Shepard stepped past an increasingly nervous-looking Vega, putting his hands calmly behind his back. "I take responsibility, sir. Commander Vega and the crew of the Normandy were not part of the events at the hospital; they only assisted with cleanup and humanitarian efforts." He didn't need to mention Karam's involvement.

"I'm glad to hear it, but I still don't like having the Normandy associated with destroying hospitals. If I knew this would happen, I would have sent you on an active-duty ship instead. I assume your personal mission is over?"

"Um. . .about that, sir. I've requested the Normandy to take me and my family to Omega."

"Absolutely not!" For once, Hackett's cool composure cracked. He quickly mended it, but the look on his face remained stern. "Jamone is one thing, but Omega is Terminus space. You'll put the entire crew in danger and risk conflict between the Terminus and the Systems Alliance. The Normandy is not an unknown stealth fighter anymore, Shepard; it's a symbol of the galaxy's greatest achievement, and it will draw attention onto Earth and the rest of Council space if you get involved in Omega's battles."

Vega interjected before Shepard could. "Sir, in fairness, we aren't proposing fighting Omega itself. Just one element that has already demonstrated off-world military capability and influence."

Shepard saw where Vega was going and went with it. "The Systems Alliance at least knows where it stands with Aria T'Loak, but Archangel is a wild card. If he takes over the last bastion of Terminus space, who's to say he won't try expanding his influence even further? Yes, it would be crazy, but if there's one thing we know about him, it's that he _is_ crazy. Besides, he attacked my family."

Hackett sighed. "I don't disagree, but. . ." he scratched his beard. "Look. The Systems Alliance Admiralty Board is adamant that our navy, and the Normandy in particular, not be used in combat outside of Council space."

"But—"

"However, Jamone was in Council space. If the Council approves a response and enlists the Normandy, the Admiralty Board will be unable to overrule that."

Shepard nodded. "So we need to go to the Destiny Ascension next."

"Where the Normandy goes is up to her Commander. But as of right now, you are not authorized to enter Terminus space. I hope I made myself clear."

Vega saluted. "Yes, sir."

The image clicked out, and Vega put down his hand with a sigh.

"Sorry to drag you through all this," Shepard said.

Vega looked at him like he apologized for space being empty. "What, this? This is nothing. So, what's the plan when we reach Omega?"

Shepard shook his head. "No, cowboy. We're going to the Ascension next. Admiral's orders."

"You're putting up with the regulations and political bullshit? _You?_ "

It was one thing when he was Commander—then he was the one getting into trouble for mutiny. Vega had worked hard his whole life for his position; he even had an N7 logo tattooed on his arm! Shepard wasn't about to sacrifice that, not unless he absolutely had to. "Trust me, James, a year of house arrest is not the pleasant vacation I made it out to be."

"Dude, I know. But you need us for a change, and I'm not about to just shrug it off for some red tape."

"You sound like Garrus." Ahh, crap, he'd have to explain the situation to Garrus. And Pallin. Neither of them were going to like it. "Anyway, Omega will be there regardless. We might as well have some Council backing."

"And if we can't get them to approve?"

Shepard smiled. " _Then_ we can talk about mutiny."

* * *

  **Garrus**

"I can't believe you two," Garrus said to his parents for what felt like the hundredth time. Maybe it was. "How can you be so stubborn?"

"You are one to talk," his mother's VI said. The bed she was on looked significantly less comfortable than the one in her hospital room, but Nest had provided pillows and blankets, along with plenty of drugs for her pain, if she'd only accept them.

"If this ship is as safe as you've repeatedly assured us in the past," Pallin said, "then we should be just fine."

"That's—you-!" Garrus threw up his hands in defeat. There was just no convincing these people. "You should be in a bed too!" He said to Pallin. When he'd learned just how badly his father was injured, he nearly doubled over. He could tear Vega's head off for bringing them on board, but he was right, Garrus knew; if Vega hadn't brought them along, they likely would have found some other way, a much more dangerous way. Still, he didn't have to like it.

Karam stirred on the next bed over. His injuries weren't severe, but he was in some amount of pain. Garrus felt immense gratitude for this batarian he'd never met, and resolved to buy him a drink sometime.

John passed by the med bay windows, looking in. He stopped for the briefest of moments before going through the doors. Garrus knew he must have had some bad news.

"Well," John said as he entered. "Hackett won't approve the Normandy's excursion into Omega space, so we have to go get the Council's permission instead."

Garrus jerked up. "What?! We're ignoring that, right?"

"Nope."

Garrus looked at his husband closely, not for the first time since they were reunited. He seemed. . . _different,_ somehow. Not just because his hair was shorter—Garrus wasn't sure how he felt about that yet—but the authoritative way John carried himself, the way he talked, even his scent was all different. Or, rather, closer to what he was during the War than what Garrus had grown accustomed to over the past five years.

Right at that moment, he didn't like it.

"The longer we wait, the more danger Solana's in! We know Archangel has a personal grudge against her, John!"

"You told her to stay out of sight?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then she's going to have to do that a little longer. I don't want to wait any more than you do, but Solana's an adult capable of taking care of herself; I think she's demonstrated that well enough already."

Garrus looked to his dad for support, then realized that Pallin hadn't spoken yet. Surely he couldn't be in favor of this!

"Dad?"

Pallin cleared his throat. Spirits alive, he _was_ in favor of it. "I agree with Shep—with John. If these are the rules we must follow, then we will. I'm sure the Council will approve."

Even John looked surprised to hear that.

Garrus snarled. He couldn't believe his ears. "You're all insane!" He pointed at John. "You most of all. Since when did you give a flying fuck about the rules?"

"If this was still my ship—"

" _Of course_ this is still your ship! You think just because Vega's the Commander now makes the Normandy any less yours?"

"Yes!" John's voice startled even Garrus. It had been a long time since he yelled at him like that. "I love this ship, but I was never under the delusion that it would be mine forever, and I'm surprised you were. If it was my ass on the line, I'd tell Hackett to feed the entire Council to a thresher maw and we'd be invading Omega right now, but it's not my ass and it's not my ship, so we're going to follow the red tape on this until we have absolutely no other choice! If you want to argue about it, bring it up with the Council when we get there."

A difficult silence followed; Garrus thought he could even hear his mother breathing. He kept his gaze on John the entire time, unwilling to be the first to back away.

"If it helps," Pallin said amiably, "I need to discuss something with Sparatus anyway. So, this detour serves dual purposes. What do humans say? Two birds, one boulder?"

Garrus used the opportunity to blink and look away. "What do you need to talk to the Councilor for?"

"Nothing you need to worry about yet."

The "yet" did not go unnoticed.

"Fine," Garrus said. Fighting the crazy in his family was leaving him exhausted, and there wasn't anything he could do to change the ship's course now without full-blown hijacking and mutiny anyway. "I'll be in the main battery if you need me."

Karam gurgled from the bed, and made a valiant, but futile, attempt to sit up. "Don't touch my stuff," he said quickly, then he fell asleep just as quickly.

"I want what he has," Xenafor's VI said.

* * *

  **Shepard**

He didn't mean to shout, but Garrus had hit a nerve in him that he was becoming increasingly aware of: he did not like being looked at as some larger-than-life superhero, an Übermensch to whom the rules no longer applied. Vega had hit the same nerve, earlier. It was becoming a pain.

When Garrus left, he regretted his tone of voice, but not his words or their meaning. Garrus still had that rebellious, screw-the-rules-for-the-greater-good spark in him. Shepard did too, at least he thought he did, but what Garrus never fully understood was that there was a time and a place to break the rules, and this was neither.

He sighed, then turned to Pallin. "I suppose there's no chance you'll tell me what's going on between you and Sparatus?"

"No. It's nothing that'll jeopardize you or the mission; in fact, I might be able to get him to help us. We'll need him to get the rest of the Council on our side."

Shepard nodded. He trusted Pallin enough not to do something dangerous, and that was about as much as he could hope for under the circumstances.

Besides, there was a much, much more pressing thought on his mind.

He turned to Nest. Up until now, the salarian had been at his desk, headphones in his ears, ignoring everyone else in the room. How he was supposed to know if Xenafor or Karam had an emergency, Shepard didn't know or ask. He tapped him on the shoulder.

The doctor turned in his seat, a lot like Chakwas used to do, and looked up at Shepard with his big, dark eyes. "Yes? Are you all done acting out Hamlet yet, or do you need me to call in a couple of the elcor cast to make it complete?" Perhaps he had heard them after all.

"I need. . ." Shepard looked over his shoulder. Pallin's focus was back on Xenafor, and Karam was still unconscious, but. . ."I need a favor."

Nest snorted. "You came to the wrong doctor for those kinds of favors, pal. If you think I'm gonna hand over a prescription for 'the good stuff' just because you're Shepard, think again; you'd better come to me bleeding or missing something important if you want that kind of—"

"Not that," Shepard said, stopping him. Lord, Mordin hadn't been this annoying. "It's just." He tried signaling to his in-laws. "It's been a long time since I've seen Garrus."

Nest blinked. "Yes?"

"And I would _like_ to have a long, private _talk_ with him."

Another blink. "Uh-huh. . ."

"But for a human and a turian to _talk,_ " Shepard said through gritted teeth, "they need certain _things,_ or else the _talking_ could get rather painful."

Nest blinked one more time. "So do you need a mouth guard, or?"

"I believe my son-in-law needs a few doses of Reversal, as well as possibly some sexual lubricant." Xenafor's VI chimed in behind him. He could swear, VI or no VI, that the damn thing was amused. He didn't dare look back at Pallin, no matter how much he might want to see the man's face.

Nest's eyes widened even more. "OH! Why didn't you just say so?" He reached into a drawer and pulled out a sheet of pills and a sample bottle. "I heard the stories, but, wow. I suppose I don't need to warn you about the chafing. . ."

Shepard snatched the items out of Nest's hand. "Thanks," he said sweetly. He turned and walked out as quick as he could without running. Pallin, thankfully, kept his gaze firmly locked onto Xenafor, but Shepard looked her in the eyes and could nearly see the laughter in them. Well, he supposed she was entitled to some fun.

* * *

  **Garrus**

The main battery was just like he remembered it, except Karam had left his own personal touch—a few datapads and pictures—on the wall near the display. Garrus remembered watching millions die on that display during the War, many of them due to his own decisions. A few million lives here to save a few billion there.

He took off his armor and changed into civvies. Karam's own armor occupied the closet where Garrus always hung his, so he just set it on the ground for now. He turned to the console at the center, running his hand along its surface. He was locked out, of course; no calibrations for him. But he could look at what Karam did. The work was good enough, but Garrus identified multiple areas of improvement, a fraction of a percent here, a millimeter changed there. He took notes on one of the datapads for Karam to read later. He let the work relax him, take his concentration away from other matters and put it into marginally-beneficial minutiae.

The doors opened and shut behind him, and John's scent mingled in the air. It was a familiar situation: him at work, trying to concentrate, and John coming in and obliterating that concentration with his very presence. Well, he wasn't Commander anymore, as he so loved to remind Garrus, so Garrus didn't have to interrupt his work to stand at attention whenever John felt—

John's arms wrapped around him from behind, and Garrus felt the wet touch of his lips against his scars. "I'm sorry I yelled," John said between kisses. Garrus tried to stand up straight—their position, with him bent over the console and John pressing on him from behind, was also familiar, if uncomfortable—but when he tried to turn to face him, the human held him tight.

"John," he said, trying to pry his husband's hands off his chest. He failed. John's tongue trailed Garrus' carapace; he could feel it through his clothes. "Not here. This isn't—"

"Karam's out cold, and I can still lock the door." To illustrate, John reached over and pressed a button on the console. The doors clicked behind them, locking up. Karam or Vega could still get in, though, and EDI could override the lock at any time. He opened his mouth to voice those concerns, but John's fingers muffled him.

"I can't stop thinking about you, Garrus. Do you have any idea how long I've-? Well, feel for yourself." John pushed his hips against Garrus', and he could feel the bulge rub on his butt. He breathed out around John's fingers. "Your body is so perfect."

John removed his fingers from Garrus' mouth, and his hands moved to hold his hips. John's scent was unmistakable lust, strong and wild, and it fueled Garrus' own libido like gas on a fire. The anger he tried to hold on to quickly evaporated under that heat.

Garrus turned, finally able to move, and John pressed their heads together. Throwing caution out the airlock, he allowed himself to kiss back. John's tongue refused to be denied; Garrus opened his mouth and their tongues met. John sucked on Garrus' tongue when it entered his mouth, moaning, drool that might have been either of theirs running down his chin.

When they separated, John pulled a sheet out of his pocket. Garrus recognized the pills immediately; they took a dose before every session. The pills were originally developed to allow Levo-amino creatures, like humans, and Dextro-amino creatures, like turians, safely eat eachother's food; but it had another purpose, letting the two species consume other things entirely without fear of anaphylactic shock. John swallowed a pill and passed the sheet over. Garrus hesitated. Usually, he didn't need one. John was the one who did all of the consuming.

"You're going to want one this time," John said.

Garrus popped a pill out of the foil and swallowed it, feeling somewhat nervous of the implication. John undressed him, removing his shirt and kissing his stomach as he undid the pants. He had grown quite adept at removing turian clothing over the past five years. Garrus' cock wasn't out yet, but he could feel his crotch muscles relaxing, making room for the oncoming erection. John knelt and kissed his hatch, then stood and quickly pulled off his own clothes.

Garrus thought John looked different before, but now he was sure; John was _definitely_ different. The softness that had slowly accumulated over five years was gone, as was most of his hair, which had only just started to grow back. Garrus ran a hand along John's muscles. By turian standards, he was huge; only professional turian bodybuilders ever got muscles that large, and they usually suffered from a disorder of some kind. He rubbed the solid midsection that had been soft and malleable the last time he'd seen it.

"You like it?" John asked.

"I always like it," Garrus replied. Soft, hard, it didn't matter how John looked; Garrus could always find advantages to both body types. He took John's cock in his hand; it was already fully hard, and leaking. The smell of it dominated his every breath. "I especially like this part. But you will grow your hair back, right?"

John smiled. "You don't like the smooth feel?"

"Only down here." Garrus gave a squeeze, and John took a deep, sudden breath. "I like your body hair." He just didn't like pubic hair. Too much got stuck in his teeth. Thankfully, John always shaved down there for him.

"What about my head?" John asked.

"Hmm." Garrus took his hand off John's genitals and rubbed his head. "I like it. But I also like you with hair. Gives me something to pull." He put his nose on John's head and sniffed. The smell was so similar, and yet so different at the same time. He traced John's body with his hands. He knew every inch of his husband by heart, every blemish, every erogenous zone, every individual smell and taste his body had to offer, until he knew it all better than John himself; this body felt foreign to him. Perhaps the growing stench of sex clouded his judgment, but he couldn't understand why.

Embracing the scent of his mate, his cock finally pushed out of him, blue and pumping erect, and his hormones flew into their own Relay jump. Turian arousal was a gradual buildup that required some patience; humans were like flipping a light switch, normal one second and horny the next, and timing their individual cycles to correspond had never been easy. They both shuddered as John took it in his hand. He thrust against John and tried to turn him around, to claim him like he claimed him so many times before, but, surprisingly, John resisted, grabbing Garrus' wrists and spinning him around instead. John was always the physically stronger of the two, but he never _resisted_ like this before. Garrus had _never_ been the submissive, even during the few times he'd bottomed.

Now, John was in control. His every motion, pressing Garrus against the console, bending him over with the sheer force of his weight, hooking his fingers into the front of his carapace and pulling him down, demanded control.

Garrus wasn't sure if he liked it.

"I'm not—" a lump caught in Garrus' throat. He felt so _weak._ "I mean, I haven't. . .you know. . . _prepared._ "

He felt John stand up on his tiptoes to reach the back of Garrus' neck. He felt the human's cock push against his hole, and he instinctively moaned. "You know I don't care about that. You're just stalling." He ground up against Garrus' ass, and he moaned again. "You act like such a hetero playboy, but we both know you love cock as much as I do."

Garrus nodded. Spirits, but it was true; he loved it. He wanted it. Even if he was too humiliated to admit it. Even if he couldn't identify why he loved it.

John stood, and as his weight left Garrus, he lifted his rear a little higher, spread his legs a little wider. Did John always feel like such a slut when Garrus dominated him? He heard the pop of the lube bottle being opened, then he felt something cold drip along his hole.

"John," Garrus said, the breathiness of his voice startling even him. He wanted it to be over before someone walked in. They had fucked plenty of times in this very room, but John had been Commander of the ship then, and could lock the door against anyone. Now, Vega or Karam could walk in at any time, or EDI could force the doors open, or. . . "Are you sure we should be doing this?"

"Garrus." He said the word like it tasted sweet and delicious. "You know I love your voice. I could listen to you read the dictionary and it would be the hottest thing ever."

Garrus felt him lean in again, and. . .oh, spirits. Did the human just _growl_?

"But right now. . .shut the fuck up."

Then he entered him.

Garrus gasped as the wet pressure of John's cock pressed into him. His body fought back instantly and without Garrus' permission, squeezing his ass tight and bucking forward. It didn't matter. John's thrust was an onslaught that _would not_ be denied.

* * *

  **Shepard**

His whole life, Shepard had been a bottom. Despite being the leader in every other aspect of his life, when it came to sex, he wanted to be the one who obeyed rather the one who was in charge. With Garrus, that desire increased ten-fold; he didn't just obey Garrus, he worshipped him. Garrus, for his part, always responded in kind, taking charge and reveling in it. It was a great system, working as though their two species were designed that way: the turian master, the human slave.

Just this once, he wanted to know what Garrus felt.

He could see the appeal.

Garrus' ass squeezed him like a vise, a uniquely turian tightassed-ness that transgressed the realm of metaphor. Shepard applied a little more lube and pushed a finger in next to his cock, tugging at Garrus' hole as he fucked. Garrus gripped the edge of the console as he rocked back and forth in rhythm to Shepard's thrusts. A faint purring noise came from his mouth, though he didn't seem very aware of it with his eyes closed and drool running down his chin.

Shepard thought of the things Garrus enjoyed doing to him, trying to pick something to spice up the moment more. If he only had talons, he could scratch Garrus' tough hide better. He reached down and clasped Garrus' neck, squeezing just hard enough to get him to open his mouth, his mandibles spread wide, his tongue lolling out like a dazed animal's. His eyes opened, rolled back in bliss. And he acted like he didn't enjoy this!

He felt his orgasm climbing up a little more with every thrust. For Shepard's part, he still wanted to bottom; he still enjoyed his part in their little system. But he would definitely be doing this more often from now on.

* * *

  **Garrus**

He had finally settled into the rhythm, and though he wasn't entirely psychologically comfortable, he managed some physical comfort, at least. The thrusts didn't hurt anymore; now he was loose enough for John to glide in and out of him effortlessly. The pressure on his rear built up faster, and John's breathing sped up more. He had to be close.

When John grabbed his neck, he thought he might cum then and there, all over the console. The human had never had the audacity to choke him before—though this could hardly be called "choking," as lightly as John had squeezed. He had learned a lot from Garrus in five years.

John shuddered up against him. "O-ohh-h, Garrus. . .I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, oh, Garrus!"

A final shove and John collapsed on top of him, moaning loudly into the air. Garrus didn't feel any different himself until John's softened member slipped out of him; then he was aware of the wetness dripping down his thighs, the intense smell of semen and his own ass mixed together.

Panting, John didn't get up immediately. His hands felt along Garrus' body, randomly groping anywhere. "Oh, Garrus," he whimpered, the commanding tone of his voice gone like air sucked into space. "Garrus. You're so perfect. I love you. Please..."

Garrus couldn't help a small chuckle. Like a light switch. "Let me up."

John slid off his back. Garrus stretched when he stood, popping a spot in his back. His ass gave a small protest of pain, a warning of aches to come, he feared. Oh, well. It was worth it.

John stared at him like it was the first time he'd ever seen a naked turian, his eyes constantly wandering back to his cock. Garrus grabbed his husband's neck and pulled him close. John didn't resist.

"You," Garrus growled, "have gotten very insolent. I haven't been paying enough attention to you, I suppose. But that's going to change." He turned John around and licked the back of his neck, digging his talons into his chest and scratching just hard enough to make John arch. His skin was salty from sweating, and delicious. "I'm going to remind you who this body really belongs to."

He moved toward John's shoulder, searching for the bite scars from their honeymoon, but they weren't there. Confused, Garrus checked the other shoulder—he couldn't have gotten it wrong, could he? It hadn't been _that_ long since their last time—but it wasn't there either.

"What happened to your bite?" He asked, a little of the growl taken out of him.

John's body slumped slightly, as if the question took some of his energy away. "Later," was all he said.

Garrus rubbed the spot where it had been. "I didn't give you permission to remove it." It was a little rule they established for out of bed: If Garrus left a scar, John could only have it removed with his permission. He called them marks of ownership, but he usually allowed for them to be removed. John had made plenty of trips to the dermatologist in the past few years. But he'd been proud of this one.

John made a sound like a whimper, but it didn't carry the same sexual tone as before. "It's a long story. Give me a new one. Right now. Please."

Garrus nuzzled the spot. It was _very_ tempting. Hearing John beg only made it more so. He'd never bit quite so hard since that first time, though. He needed to be in exactly the right mood, like eating certain foods for dinner, so he could savor the moment properly. This wasn't the right mood for him. Close, but not quite. He dragged his teeth across John's skin. "No. But you _will_ tell me later."

John nodded, shaking as Garrus kept channeling the human's incredibly sensitive sense of touch for his gain. A scratch here, a pinch there, and he could have John whimpering on his hands and knees, willing to do whatever Garrus wanted.

He looked to the door. Nobody had tried to enter yet, which was good, but he really didn't want to be caught in this situation, even on top. John didn't seem to care if the whole galaxy watched them on live video, but Garrus didn't want Vega or Karam to get a personal view of his most exposed moments—or, all gods and spirits forbid, his father, who he realized was practically in the next room. It was time to finish.

"On your knees," he said. John spun and knelt, waiting for his next command. Garrus pointed to his cock. "Work."

John immediately obeyed, grabbing onto the base of Garrus' shaft and pushing the rest into his mouth. There was no sensation like it; no turian could ever hope to match the feeling of his human's soft cheeks on his most sensitive area or suck in hard enough to make him feel fit to burst. Garrus leaned back against the console, pushing John's head further in. He definitely missed the hair.

He looked up at the ceiling, through it, and as he did he felt John's fingers probe the edge of his sheath, circling the base of his cock, the most sensitive area on a turian. He wouldn't dare--!

A finger slipped in, just the tip, just a single joint, but it was enough. The sheer taboo of the act, let alone the physical intensity, sent Garrus' mind past the event horizon and spiraling into the black hole of bliss, his orgasm pumping out every bit of stress and pleasure his body had held in for so long.

When the spasms ceased, he looked down at his beautiful, alien husband. John nuzzled Garrus' limp cock, pressing it against his face and nose, drinking in his scent while he still could. He'd make a great turian.

"Stand," Garrus commanded. John obeyed, and when Garrus noticed his cheeks bulging slightly, he smiled. "Drink it." He watched the muscles in John's throat move as he swallowed. They kissed one more time, Garrus tasting himself in John's mouth, then they put their clothes back on.

"You doing okay?" John asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Never better," Garrus replied, almost meaning it. "So now tell me: What happened to your bite?"

John's shoulders dropped like Garrus had just dropped a meteor on them. "Come on," he said, gesturing to the door. "I'll tell you in the mess hall."

As Garrus listened, concern, fury, and horror building up with every word John said, he hoped Solana was doing okay.

* * *

**Solana**

The ceiling was old. Metal. A little rusted-looking, like everything else on Omega; maybe it was just part of the asteroid? How old was this place? Had it been carved as a home back when Omega was first founded, tens or hundreds of thousands of years ago? How many people had slept in this same room? How many species? It was a wonder to think about. Her neck ached slightly, and she almost turned in her bed, but quickly suppressed the urge. It didn't hurt as much as before. Distractions helped when dealing with pain, and boy, had she found herself a distraction.

Her distraction placed a hand on her stomach, and she finally turned her head. Lantar was staring at her, the same way he stared at her the whole night, ever since she walked into his room to thank him for the ice. Exactly how that had led to them both naked in his bed was a detail she couldn't quite articulate.

The worst part was, she enjoyed every moment. She loved being the center of his attention, both now and when he was moaning against her neck. He apologized after—completely unnecessarily—saying that it had been quite a long time since his last.

Now, he stared at her like she would disappear any moment, in the span of a blink.

"You're beautiful," he said finally. His voice came out somewhat hoarse, like he was trying not to cry. He was probably afraid of Garrus slowly killing him.

"So are you." Her voice was the same way. Well, Garrus would kill her too, so there was that. "Don't worry," she said, moving her head closer to his. "What Garrus doesn't know won't hurt any of us."

"Hm?" Lantar pressed his forehead against hers, and she took a moment to feel his breath escape his nostrils. "I didn't think about him at all. Hah, he's going to be so pissed, isn't he?" She realized she had never heard him laugh until then. It was a pleasant sound, one she wanted to hear more often. "You know what, Sol?" He nibbled the tip of her mandible. "Garrus can go fuck himself."

The door suddenly opened—Solana had been sure she locked it!—and Zaeed strolled in, his eyes going slightly wide when he saw the two of them. "For Chrissake, you're worse than Shepard. Get dressed, you need to come see this." He spun around and marched out.

They climbed out of the bed. She wished they could take a little more time getting dressed-Lantar bent over his pants was a very nice sight indeed—but Zaeed sounded urgent.

The whole party had gone outside, and everyone was looking up, chattering nervously. Even Benaka looked concerned.

The sky was on fire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed that chapter, because people start dying now. :D


	28. The One Rule, Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, this was a bitch to write. It didn't help that Mass Effect: Andromeda came out and I had to--HAD TO--focus all of my energy on that. I don't think I ate for a month. 
> 
> Speaking of Andromeda, I loved it, despite its issues. They crushed several of my headcanons though. Oh well. :D

**Shepard**

When he finished the story, answering all of Garrus' questions from across the mess table—the rest of the crew was either asleep or at work on essential duties, so they had some privacy, at least—Garrus rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"That. . .how could. . ." he sighed and dropped his arms. "I need a shower. Made of alcohol."

Shepard kept a level gaze on him, watching his every movement. He looked like he genuinely was going to be sick, and Shepard felt no better, but he had to know for sure. He didn't think Liara would lie about this, but then, Liara had surprised him too many times already.

"You didn't know, did you?"

Garrus' head shot up, eyes wide in shock at even being asked. "Of course not! Spirits, how could I-? No! No, I didn't know, and if I did—" He stopped himself. Shepard didn't press. "I didn't know," Garrus said more evenly, meeting Shepard's gaze the entire time. "I swear."

Shepard nodded. He would believe Garrus. Even if he had reason not to trust him—which he didn't—he would believe him, unless incontrovertibly proven wrong. He had to.

Garrus rubbed his face. "So what I thought was PTSD. . ."

Shepard shrugged. "Maybe it was. Maybe the John Doe I was in didn't like those memories, and reacted to them the way he would have. Like a mental allergy or something. Or maybe I do have. . .problems. . .and I just haven't been triggered recently. I don't know how it all works. I don't think even Liara could say."

"Liara," Garrus snarled. "If she were here, John, I'd kill her. Or I might kiss her, for keeping you alive. I don't know what I'd do. I feel like I can't trust anybody now."

Shepard nodded. He could sympathize.

"Is that all?" Garrus asked. "Anything else I should know? Maybe you've secretly been a krogan all this time?" He made a valiant effort at smiling, but his mandibles barely budged. "Sorry. Not a time for joking, I guess."

Shepard hesitated. He didn't care about the joke—it was the question that bugged him. "Well. . .yes. There's something else, but it's not related to any of that."

Garrus blew a puff of air. "Hit me. I feel like I can handle anything at this point."

He caught himself wringing his hands like a kid caught in a lie, and made himself stop. "It's about the Crucible. I didn't tell you everything that happened there, when I used it."

Garrus quirked his head a bit. "Why not? What happened?"

So, Shepard told him: About what happened after Anderson died, about the vision of the child composed of starlight, the purpose of the Crucible, and the choice he had to make. Garrus listened intently, not looking like he would be sick, at least.

"I don't know why it bothers you so much," Garrus said when he was finished.

"Don't you get the—the. . ." he waved his hands above his head. " _Magnitude_ of it? I could have changed everything. Everything! The very definition of life! EDI might still be alive, and the geth, and we could be living to be ten thousand years old and colonizing Andromeda right now instead of slowly going back to how things were, with dead Reapers on every planet and everyone at eachother's throats. Everyone says I made the right decision, but. . .I could have made things so much better."

Garrus stood and walked to the other side of the table, hugging Shepard from behind. "If you did those things, you wouldn't be here. This is the best of all possible worlds, for that reason alone. Don't ever think otherwise. That's an order."

Shepard nodded. He felt better. Not permanently, perhaps, but better. Garrus had that effect on him.

"Now, I'm going to get that shower," Garrus said. "If a certain human were to join me. . .?"

Shepard laughed. "You know we can't use the shower in the cabin anymore, right? It's all communal, all the time for us, now, baby. Hope you like your water lukewarm."

Garrus' smile faded. "Oh. Right. Still, at least we'd have a reason to be naked in front of others."

"Maybe later. Go clean up."

Garrus gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he left. Leaning back as much as his chair would allow, Shepard looked up at the ceiling and smiled.

* * *

**Solana**

All of Omega was alight from the blaze in the sky, deep orange tendrils of—not fire, exactly, but some type of energy—snaking along the atmosphere like a web. Or a net.

"What is this?" She asked. Everyone else was looking up at the phenomena too, except Caelon, who frantically pressed commands into his omni-tool.

"Whatever it is," Caelon said, turning the omni-tool off, "it's interfering with off-world communications. I can reach you guys just fine, but beyond the station. . ."

"It looks like a quarantine field," Zaeed said. "Supply ships won't be getting through that, or anything else, for that matter. What I want to know is, who has the tech to pull something like this off?"

"Not Archangel," Lantar said, standing next to Solana. "He definitely didn't have anything capable of this when I worked for him."

"Aria would have access to something like this, wouldn't she?" Benaka kept her head down, but her eyes kept flicking up to the field. "Maybe she's getting desperate, trying to cut off Archangel's off-station support."

Lutis shook his head. "Far as we know, Archangel gets most of his supplies and supporters on Omega, so this wouldn't hurt him much. Same with Aria. Whoever triggered this, they're sending a message. Looks like they want a final showdown. No escape, not outside interference."

"Except us," Solana said. Everyone looked at her at once. She hated when they did that. "If nobody outside the station can get on, then we're trapped until this conflict is over."

The group all looked at eachother, each gaze as unsure as the last.

"If we're picking sides," Benaka said, "I pick the one who _hasn't_ shot at us yet. Especially after what you saw with Archangel."

Caelon cleared his throat. "We could just wait it out. Find a nice, quiet hole somewhere and come out when one of them's dead."

"Unless they blow up Omega with them," Zaeed countered, "which seems more and more likely by the day. Shepard's not coming to save us this time. We need to go to Aria."

Lantar squeezed Solana's hand, and she found herself squeezing back.

* * *

**Shepard**

The Destiny Ascension welcomed the Normandy into its docks, and as the crew exited for their brief shore leave, Garrus and Shepard made way to the Council apartments with Pallin in tow.

"I hate to say it, but we'll need Sparatus," Shepard said. "He's the most senior Council member and has the greatest pull with the others. He'll be the fastest route to Omega if we can just convince him."

Pallin nodded. "Just as well; he's the one I need to speak with anyway."

"I wish you'd just tell us what's so damn important," Garrus said. Shepard had to consciously match his stride with theirs, his shorter legs compensating for his digitigrade companions'.

"You wouldn't believe me. Besides, it might not be anything at all. We'll see."

"We're here," John said, stopping just outside an unassuming door. He supposed the Council apartments wouldn't have their gold-engraved names on the door like their offices. He rang the bell, and after a few moments, the monitor next to the door lit up with Sparatus' face. Shepard could swear he heard a groan, but maybe it was static. Maybe.

"Shepard. I assume this is important?"

"Very. I need to talk to you about securing a ship to Omega."

"Hmmph. One moment."

The monitor went black, and after a few minutes, Sparatus emerged from the apartment, fully dressed as though he slept in his work clothes. Shepard caught a glimpse of his apartment, immaculately clean with no loose items or decorations, before the doors shut.

"I cannot grant your request," Sparatus said.

Garrus clicked his tongue. "Wow, usually the "no"s aren't so direct."

"It's not that I don't want to," Sparatus said, standing straight and ignoring Garrus. "You came at the worst possible time. Omega has recently been enveloped in a quarantine field."

"A what?" Shepard asked.

Sparatus opened his omni-tool, and an image of Omega lit up above his arm. Tendrils of energy enclosed Omega like a massive fishnet, covering the entire station.

"We received this recently from our agents. The field is immense, by far the largest ever deployed, and nobody can get past it, in or out. We don't know who deployed it. We've lost all communication with the station proper."

"Wait," Shepard said. "You have agents on Omega?"

"Of course. We've been monitoring the conflict there very closely."

Pallin nodded thoughtfully. "But you haven't been getting involved. Watching the conflict to see if you can take advantage when the dust settles. You _are_ planning to annex Omega." He sounded more admiring than critical.

Sparatus shrugged, the most casual expression Shepard had ever seen the man make. "It wasn't always the plan, but if they want to make it easier for us, let them. But you see why we can't authorize any excursions to the station. Even if a ship could land, the Council must not get involved with this conflict until it's over. We have to be the helping hand that sweeps in to clear the wreckage and bring Omega to a state of stability, not the outside aggressor."

"Our family is already involved," Pallin said. Everyone stopped to look at him. He neatly averted Sparatus' eyes as he spoke. "My daughter's there, sir. You remember Solana. I would. . .consider it a significant favor if you would let us at least attempt to get through to help her."

Sparatus rubbed his head. "Spirits. How did she-? No. I'm sorry, Executor, but this is too much to risk over one person. She'll have to bunker down until it's over."

Shepard stepped in front of Sparatus, resisting the urge to stand on his tiptoes to meet him. "I'm trying to be good, Councilor, I really am. But here's what's going to happen: I'm going to go to Omega. Whether I announce my Council-sanctioned presence there with a bullhorn to every single person I pass depends on whether I _have_ said Council sanction."

The Councilor's mandibles shivered, and for a moment Shepard thought the turian might actually try to throw a punch. "Making you a Spectre was the second-worst decision of my career, Shepard."

"And what was the worst?"

Sparatus growled as he opened his omni-tool. "Not listening to your warnings. I've fast-tracked your approval to _discreetly_ approach Omega space. You'll be given temporary command of the SSV Anegawa. It's not as combat-capable as the Normandy, but you won't be shooting at anything with it, and it's just as fast. She has a skeleton crew already, but you may want to select some officers for key positions."

Shepard nodded and stepped aside. "Thank you. Seriously."

Sparatus wheeled on Pallin, and if he seemed angry before, on his former subordinate he held nothing back. "If Shepard ruins the Council's chance to finally unite the galaxy, Executor, it will be on _your_ head. Consider it your first lesson."

Pallin stood still as a recruit, but this time he met Sparatus' eyes. "Yes, sir."

When Sparatus left, still grumbling about "human Spectres," Shepard and Garrus both turned to Pallin. "What did he mean by 'your first lesson'?" Garrus asked.

Pallin coughed into his hand. "Nothing. I don't know."

"Yes you do. Out with it."

Pallin sighed. "He's planning to retire soon. We've. . .talked about me taking his place. He wants to teach me a few things about the position first."

Garrus' mouth actually hung open; it would have been funny if Shepard's wasn't hanging open as well. " _You're_ going to be the next turian Councilor?"

"Not if you two keep pissing him off, I'm not. Why are you so stunned? I was their Executor for years, and though it wasn't technically a political position, I dealt with enough politics and bureaucracy to know how to handle myself. I was his first choice as replacement, but there are other candidates."

"It's just. . .wow. I really don't know what to say about that."

"Then don't say anything. It's not a done deal anyway. Let's finish what we came for."

"Hold on," Shepard said. "There's a few people I need to see first."

* * *

**Solana**

Before, Afterlife had seemed like a nightclub with extra guards. Now, it was a veritable fortress. Barriers both makeshift and sophisticated were erected all around the perimeter, with the entrance walled off and guarded like a military zone. People in Eclipse armor stood guard every few feet, and there were even Blood Pack and Blue Suns mercs here and there, remaining dregs from the groups gathered in one place. Nobody looked particularly happy to be there.

It wasn't like they could leave.

They approached slowly, keeping their hands clear of weapons. An asari in Eclipse armor pointed her pistol in their direction. "Move along."

"We need to speak with Aria," Zaeed said. "We're with Vakarian."

"Then where's Vakarian?"

Zaeed pointed up at the sky. "Up there."

The asari looked up nervously at the energy field. "I'll relay your message to her."

"For chrissakes, the woman hires us to get info on Archangel, then we get it and it becomes a goddamned game of 'Red Light, Green Light' getting it to her. Tell her Zaeed Massani's here or I'll tell her you tried to get in my way."

The asari looked like she was considering shooting Zaeed anyway. "Fine," she said finally, "but keep your hands where I can see them." She glared at Lutis and Lantar especially, as if either one of them could have been Archangel in disguise. They walked in front of her into Afterlife.

The opening hall had been converted into a choke point for anyone stupid enough to try to enter from the front. Six guards stood aside as they made their way through. Afterlife itself was deserted, patrons, employees, and dancers replaced with heavily armed soldiers, most wearing Eclipse gear, but not all; Solana counted several people in nondescript gear that looked hobbled together from the nearest dump, ready to fight in spite of it. Guards were posted at every door at the club's lower level, though Solana didn't understand why.

"Do they keep valuables in the private rooms or something?" She asked.

Lantar answered. "Those doors lead to the market under Omega. It's not a secret, so Archangel could use them as entry points, if he was feeling lucky. Odds are, Aria wants to keep an avenue open for escape."

Aria herself was surprisingly calm, for all Solana had known of her; she expected yelling, objects thrown, incompetent henchmen shot. Instead, the woman they saw had a grim determination set in her face, pouring over a massive projection of Omega's entire layout. The station went far deeper than Solana had ever guessed.

"What do you want?" Aria asked without looking away from the map. "This had better be worth my time. Otherwise, pick up a gun and get useful."

Solana stepped up first. "I'm Solana Vakarian, Garrus' sister. I know Archangel's true identity."

Aria waved a hand. "Doesn't matter now. He's a dead man regardless of who he is."

"I also know where his base is. I can give you a location, approximate numbers. More importantly, however, Archangel—his real name is Aldus—is a surviving Marauder."

Aria finally looked up at her. "The Marauders died with the rest of the Reapers."

"He wasn't completely converted. Somehow, he survived."

Aria rubbed her chin. "That is interesting. I wonder if his followers would stay loyal if they knew their leader was a Reaper zombie. But it may be too late, regardless."

Zaeed stepped up. "Are we just going to ignore the giant energy field?"

"The field is mine. After Cerberus tried to take over, I decided to develop measures against another invasion." Aria grimaced. "Of course, I didn't expect someone from Omega to fight against me. Still, this will cut off his offworld suppliers, and eventually force him to come out of hiding, where I'll be waiting for him. Or, with your information, Vakarian, I can now go to him if I get impatient. I almost lost this station once. I will _not_ lose it again." She dismissed the map with a wave; the image faded away. "Thank you for this information. I'd tell you to get the hell off my station, but that's not possible right now, so I suggest you either hide or find some weapons and hunker down."

"Wait," Solana said as Aria started to walk away. "You need to lower the field. My brother and Shepard need to get through."

"Shepard hasn't thrown his hand in this fight yet; why would he suddenly be interested now?"

"Because. . .because they're trying to save me."

"That's nice, but I'm not dropping that field until Archangel is dead, or I am. The best thing for Shepard to do is stay away until then."

She walked away from them, clearly dismissing the conversation, and their presence. The asari from before led them out of her quarters. Another guard returned their weapons to them. Solana wished she could use them on Aria.

"What now?" She asked.

"We see this through," Lantar replied. He was never far from her, now; Solana wasn't sure how she felt about that. "We have to."

"No, we don't," Caelon said. "We can find a nice hole in the ground and wait it out, then get offworld once it's over."

"And if Archangel wins? How will we get offworld with him in charge of the docks?" He shook his head. "We _have_ to fight. This is our responsibility now."

"I'll decide what our goddamn responsibility is," Zaeed said. He rubbed the back of his head, deep in thought. "But you're right. Pussyfooting out of here puts us between them. Way I see it, this is the safest place to be."

"At least until the shooting starts," Caelon said.

Solana looked around the fortifications. Something felt wrong, though she couldn't pinpoint just what.

"How would he do it?"

The others looked to her; she hadn't meant to say it so loud, but now that her thoughts were open, she couldn't stop. "This place is damn near impenetrable. How would Aldus attack here?"

"He has some decent numbers," Lantar said. "He could just swarm the place, overwhelm Afterlife with an assault like he did with the Blood Pack."

"But that's not his MO. He attacked the groups in ways they didn't expect, the Blue Suns via subterfuge and the Blood Pack vis force. What would Eclipse not expect?"

Caelon hissed. "Hacking. Eclipse relies on their tech for fighting. If that tech were compromised. . .it could also explain why he saved them for last. Gave him time to get into their systems."

It was possible, but not everyone there was Eclipse. Still, if Aldus could incapacitate all of the Eclipse mercenaries, would there be enough left to fight him off?

She looked around. Something else was off. "Where's Lutis?"

Lutis wasn't in the main room, or the opening hall. She was sure he went in with them, though. "He was just here," Benaka said. "I'm sure he was."

They left Afterlife, and Solana spotted Lutis about a block away from the fortifications, looking up at the sky, his back toward them and his arms in his hands. As she approached, she heard muttering.

"No. . .I can't hear it, I won't. . ."

"Lutis?" Solana said. He jumped.

"Ah," he said, "you startled me." He kept looking up at the sky. He spoke evenly, but Solana saw his talons digging into his arm, to the point of drawing blood.

"Something's wrong," he said softly. He didn't blink. "It's like flying through space, but seeing no stars. I don't know why I'm feeling this. I haven't—" He shook his head, finally breaking his gaze from the sky. "I'm sorry I wandered off. It won't happen again." He quickly moved to join the others, leaving Solana to wonder what the hell that was all about.

She felt like there was something she missed, something on the edge of her mind that was crucial, but distant. She didn't know how she could help Aria, or even if she should, but the asari seemed at least to have a plan. The map on her desk had—

The map.

Solana looked back at Afterlife. The map laid out all of Omega, including its interior. It was larger than she thought. It ran deep into the asteroid.

What was down there?

Large as it was, Omega was a space station, just like the Citadel had been, not a planet. It had no atmosphere of its own. No natural ecosystems. No water. No oxygen. All of that had to be artificially produced. But nowhere on this station had she seen anything resembling a hydroponic greenhouse or anything else for water or oxygen production.

She ran back toward Afterlife, passing the confused looks of the others along the way. "I know what he's going to do!"

That was when the alarms started.

 _I'm too late,_ she thought, panicking. No, they were all still alive, so she wasn't too late. Not yet. She stopped by a confused-looking salarian. "What does that alarm mean?" She asked.

"I don't know," the salarian replied. "I've—I've never heard it before."

 _Shit._ She left him and barreled through the entrance to Afterlife.

She nearly crashed right into Aria.

"Watch where you're—"

"Life support," Solana said breathlessly. "Do you know where Omega's life support systems are?"

Aria drew up straight, as though offended by the question. "Of course."

"That's what this alarm is, isn't it?"

Aria snarled and pushed past her. Solana followed.

"The alarm was manually triggered," Aria said. "I'm not an idiot; I placed guards down there, too. It means they've been compromised. But if I thought he knew where the life support controls were. . ." She stopped short. "He's drawing me out. He _wants_ me to go down there."

"Won't you?" Solana asked. "This is your station, isn't it? If Aldus shuts down the oxygen here. . ."

"It'll just kill him too," Aria said, though she appeared uncertain. "He has to be bluffing. Would he really risk killing everyone on Omega over this?"

Lantar and the others had caught up by now. "Trust me," Lantar said, catching his breath, "He would. He likely has a plan to keep his most elite alive—oxygen tanks, food packs, whatever. And he doesn't need the whole station dead; just you. And since nobody can get off Omega thanks to your quarantine field, everyone _will_ die."

Aria shook her head. "There's not enough space down there for a full army; a firefight will risk destroying the entire thing."

"He knows that."

"Then your group comes with me. We need to form a plan on the way. Damn it, he's trapped me _again!_ "

Aria led them down through Afterlife's lower doors, into the market. A broken elevator—at least, it appeared broken; it worked when Aria input a few commands into a hidden keypad—led them down to a tunnel beneath Afterlife that stretched in a downward slope for several hundred yards. Solana saw red markings on the walls in some places, the sign of the Talons, likely from before they were under Aria's command. The alarm sounded louder down here.

"It took me over a hundred years to find this place," Aria said. "The guy in charge before me didn't know about it at all. I _still_ haven't seen all of it. Nyreen could apparently navigate it well enough. How the hell did Archangel find it?"

It was a good question, but they couldn't dwell on it now. Now they had to focus on stopping Aldus before millions of people died.

The tunnel abruptly ended in a vast cavern. The same reddish light that painted Omega's surface filled this space from sources she couldn't trace. Structures, some complete, others long-since gone to ruin, stretched up to the surface of Omega from way down deep into the asteroid. Support? Ancient elevators? How many generations of inhabitants had come and gone in this place? One such structure stretched out like a metal bridge, and they took it, stepping lightly at first. Thankfully, it felt solid beneath their feet, holding up even Benaka's weight without protest.

"How far does this go?" Caelon asked above the wailing of the alarm.

"Center of the asteroid," Aria said. "Now shut up and let me think."

They found bodies ahead, a mix of species and armors. Most were Aria's men. Blackened rings marked holes punched through their armor—and their bodies. Solana recognized one of the krogan bodyguards from Aldus' HQ. Likely they focused fire on him while Aldus killed them from behind. A terminal nearby broadcast the alarm, with a batarian corpse leaning over the console.

"This can't be all you left to guard the most important part of the whole damn station," Zaeed said.

Aria glared back at him. "I didn't know he knew how to access this area. And my forces are stretched somewhat _thin_ lately, you may have noticed."

"Guys," Lutis said, examining the bodies. "These have been here for a while."

Aria turned to him. "What do you mean, 'a while'?"

"A day, at most. Rigor mortis has set in, but not much. I think. . .I think these were arranged."

But the alarm had only just been triggered! Why would someone go to the effort to. . .

"It's an ambush!" Solana said. The shots immediately followed, raining down on them from another platform up above. Solana held up her barrier and saw Benaka and Aria doing the same. The shots came from an awkward angle; the attackers were above them, further ahead, which caused many of the bullets to ping off the metal walkway. If they had kept going, they would have been directly beneath them, perfectly poised for ambush.

The others took what cover they could, erecting shields and propping up the bodies for what little cover they could provide. Solana could see the attackers' weapons aimed down and backward from the railing above. She drew her power up into her barrier and launched it at the railing. The entire structure groaned as the energy wave made impact, but, more importantly, two of the attackers were launched over the railing, screaming as they fell. Aria took the break in fire to launch herself up to their level. Solana heard blows landing, several shots fired, and felt the use of biotics. One by one, more attackers fell to the depths below, not all of them conscious.

Aria hopped back down, wiping blood away from her chin. It wasn't her own blood. Her blood wouldn't be red.

"I needed that," she said. "Come on, the main hub isn't far from here."

They kept their weapons at the ready as they moved, eyes on the railings above and below. If they had a day to prepare for them, they could be anywhere. But that left another question in Solana's mind: why were they not dead?

If Aldus had been here for a day, he could have triggered the alarm or shut down Omega's life support already. Why did he wait?

Was he waiting for them? Did he _want_ a showdown with Aria? It made no strategic sense. She looked at the others, and saw they were all thinking the same thing. What was Aldus' endgame?

They weren't set upon again, but as they approached a wider expanse of what appeared to be massive generators lit up with control terminals, she could swear she felt eyes on her. Aria approached the largest console slowly, as though it might explode, and started typing in commands. Solana's group watched her flank as she did so. The alarm finally stopped sounding, replaced by a dull hum that reverberated through the floor.

"This hasn't been tampered with," Aria said finally. "Did he not find this place after all?"

"I found it, Aria."

Aldus' voice echoed through the chamber. The group held out their weapons, scanning in every direction, but there was no one to be seen, and no walkway or alcove above them. It had to be coming from below, then.

Aldus appeared as if summoned, hovering upwards with the help of a jet pack. Drineax hovered in beside him, stumbling as he landed. She didn't remember him having a jet pack before; he likely only had a short time to learn how to use it. Aldus wore his helmet, as always, but neither of them had weapons.

They all took aim at them. Drineax raised his hands. "You, uh, don't want to do that," he said.

"I think we do," Zaeed replied.

Aldus raised his arms, quietly inviting them to shoot.

"Wait," Caelon said, his omni-tool awake and pointed toward Aldus. "There's something—oh, crap. He's linked."

"With what?" Aria said.

"Omega," Aldus replied. "You were wrong. I did manage to 'tamper' with the life support, specifically matching the station's oxygen output to my own. If I die, Omega dies." He chuckled, a hollow, frightening sound. "I suppose you could say I am Omega."

Aria's biotics flared as she surged forward, pushing Drineax aside and grabbing Aldus by the neck. "You're lying!" She lifted him over the edge of the railing, then threw him to the ground.

Aldus stood without making a sound. "When we first met," he said to Aria, "I came to you with an offering. You refused." His omni-tool flared to life, its fiery sheen magnified by the light. "No more offerings. You will die here."

Solana heard the click of guns behind her. She cursed as she looked over her shoulder; they had been distracted, and Drineax and more of Aldus' goons took advantage.

"I love a good duel," Drineax said. "Let's watch them, shall we? I figure, he wins, and we shoot you as you gape in shock. She wins, and you let us go peacefully, good guys that you are. Sound fair?"

They dropped their guns, but nobody made a move. Aria focused on Aldus, her arms glowing with biotic energy. The two of them sized eachother up, neither making a move.

"I will admit," Aldus said after a moment, "your quarantine field was inspired. If you had used it earlier, it might have even hindered me."

"What the hell do you want?"

"Haven't I told you?" He lifted his omni-blade. "I want Omega."

He charged at her then, his blade wavering in the air as he struck. Aria ducked aside, launching a shockwave. Aldus' step wavered somewhat, then Aria punched him with a force Solana could feel in her own biotics. Aldus' shield absorbed some of the blow, but he still launched back several feet. He regained his footing quickly, however.

"Will you do it, then?" Aldus said mockingly. "Will you really kill me and doom this station?"

"Shut up!" Aria launched another shockwave. Aldus ducked it again, but Aria was prepared this time; she built up a charge and flung herself at his position, the charge landing with immense force. Aldus was launched off the platform. Solana thought that might have been the end of it, except Aldus hovered back up, landing as smoothly as before. He didn't appear the least bit tired.

Solana faced Drineax. "Is this what you want? For him to destroy your home?"

"I don't know," Drineax said. "Seems to me like _she's_ the one working to destroy it. Perspective, I guess."

Aria did most of the charging now, with Aldus either dodging or taking the hits directly, always recovering from each blast. Solana could see Aria's movements slow down, and her biotics, though still powerful, were dwindling. Looking over her shoulder at the goons with guns at their backs, she started to build up power of her own in her arms and legs. Benaka jumped, sensing what she was doing. Their eyes met, and Solana gave a slight nod, then she felt energy building up in the krogan, too.

Aria's biotics surged. She was going in for one final, massive attack. She ran for Aldus, who stood as calmly as ever, her feet leaving a trail of glowing power. She leapt into the air and came down on Aldus with meteoric force, the entire walkway groaning ominously under the force of her impact.

Solana saw the opportunity and took it. "Now!" She shouted, and she and Benaka released their own biotics on their captors. The force they built launched two of them over the edge. Everyone else, friends and enemies, were pushed by the force in different directions. Thankfully, none of her allies were sent flying. Lutis quickly regained his footing and disappeared; though she could hear his footsteps against the metal flooring, she couldn't see him at all, and neither could his target, a human whose gun flew out of his hand and fired into his face.

Drineax was launched onto his back. He cursed as he stood, rubbing his head. Solana grabbed him with her biotics, wrapping him in energy and lifting him up off the ground. He was helpless as long as that pull stayed, but she couldn't hold it for long. Her first blast had weakened her greatly.

A great dent in the floor stood where Aria had made impact. Both Aria and Aldus were motionless on the ground. Were they dead? Was Aldus bluffing after all?

Aldus stirred, his omni-blade sparking back to life. His helmet was shattered, exposing his transformed face. Solana heard Drineax gasp behind her, but she didn't turn to look at him.

"Zaeed!" She called. "Stop him!"

Zaeed was wrestling a weapon away from a merc. Lutis, now visible, was firing the gun he stole at another merc, a batarian who held up his shield. Benaka and Caelon faced against three goons, Caelon putting commands in his omni-tool while Benaka shielded them with her biotics. She couldn't find Lantar, and felt a burst of panic; what if he fell over the edge?

Aldus was close to Aria, so close. Cursing, Solana dropped Drineax and ran for Aldus herself. She fired a burst of power at him, but it glanced off his armor like it was a breeze, not stopping him in the least.

He grabbed Aria by the neck and lifted her in the air. His arm pulled back. Solana could do nothing.

The blade went clean through Aria's midsection, jutting out of her back. Her blood fizzled on the blade's gleaming heat, shriveling black before dissolving completely. Aria's eyes went wide, and her mouth opened in a silent scream, but nothing came out but more blood, blood that splattered against Aldus' mechanical face.

Aldus swiped the blade free, launching drops of blood into the air. Aria fell as Solana reached her. She quickly opened her medi-gel canisters but she knew there'd be no point; the wound was seared black on the edges, and she could see through to the ground. Aria shook uncontrollably in her arms, her skin bluish-gray from shock.

Aria looked up at Solana. "N-Ny-Nyreen-?" Her eyes froze in a confused stare. Aria T'Loak was dead.

Aldus stood over her, his synthetic eyes casting an otherworldly light. He reached down to grab her.

A gunshot fired, and his hand wrenched away with a cry of pain. Solana looked to the source of the shot.

Drineax held a smoking pistol in his hands. They were shaking. From the murderous look in his eyes, Solana knew he was shaking in anger, not fright.

"A Reaper?!" He fired the gun again. The shot missed by several inches. "You're a Reaper? How—you—I believed in you, you son of a bitch! _We all did!_ "

Solana noticed movement behind Aldus. A turian hand reached up from the edge, followed by the rest of Lantar Sidonis. He pulled himself up onto the walkway and lifted his pistol. A wound in his side dripped blood.

The others had disposed of Aldus' men and now closed on him, weapons raised. Aldus' metal mandibles parted in a smirk as he looked at Solana. "No matter, now. I have what I need." He turned and ran for the railing, the others firing at him. The shots missed the moving target. He dived off the railing, and Solana rushed to look down where he fell. She saw him hovering away.

"God damn it," Zaeed said. "Does anyone have a sniper rifle?"

Drineax leaned over the edge and fired, again and again, until his pistol overheated. Then he threw the gun over and roared.

"Drineax—" Solana began, but he grabbed her neck and cut her words off.

"You—don't," he growled. His voice sounded feral. "Just shut up!"

Lantar pointed his gun at Drineax. "Let her go, Drin. We're all on the same side now."

Drineax seethed, but he put her down. Tears ran down his face. "That fucking bastard. I'll kill him, I'll fucking tear out whatever organs he has left. How could he do this to me? Everything we've done. . ."

"Drineax," Solana said. "We need to know what he's going to do next."

Drineax barked a noise that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "There was no 'next!' Aria's dead, he should be in charge and everything should start improving. That was the whole plan. All of it." He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. "Afterlife. He's going to clear out Afterlife next. Probably shut down the quarantine field too, though I know he considered keeping it up so Aria's men couldn't escape. Spirits, but at least she wasn't a Reaper!"

Lantar put his hand on Solana's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She looked at Aria's body one last time. Someone would need to come retrieve her. "I guess we lost," she said.


	29. Behind the Omega-4

**Garrus**

Ambassador Ari'Ka was a strange little man. Well, not "little," per se; he was almost as tall as Garrus, and from pictures he'd seen of the raloi, he figured the environmental suit concealed an impressive bulk of feathers and talons, making his figure only appear lanky and awkward. It was just his personality that made Garrus think of him as little. But he'd saved John's life, apparently, so he had to have some metal to him.

Maybe.

"You want _me_ on your ship?" Ari'Ka said, his voice filtered through the suit like a volus or quarian.

"Sure. It'd be perfect demonstration of your worth to join the rest of the Council species, and you did help me, after all. It'd be an honor."

"Moreso for me, I imagine. Will we be. . .you know. . . _shooting_ things?"

Garrus looked at John; perhaps this was all a prank to make Garrus nervous. But John just smiled in that way he did when he thought he knew something no one else knew. "Not likely. The Anegawa has guns, but nothing fancy enough for a drawn-out battle, and we've been forbidden to fire upon anyone besides. No, this is just a scouting mission. I can't guarantee it won't get dangerous, however."

Ari'Ka nodded. "I see. Well, in that case, perhaps you're right. But I don't know what use I could possibly offer for—"

"Great! Report to the ship immediately; I'll join you soon. Coming, Garrus?"

John pulled Garrus away faster than Ari'Ka could say "bye."

"What was that about?" Garrus asked. "Are we really bringing him along? Can't we just leave him on the docks or something?"

"No. I meant what I said; it'll be good to have him along. Maybe it'll loosen him up a bit."

Garrus sniffed. "I don't think anything could loosen that one up."

"Worked for you, didn't it?"

"I was never _that_ uptight, and you know it."

"Yeah, well. Hey, Winters!"

A human boy—definitely a boy, couldn't have been older than twenty-five, if Garrus' ability to judge human age was of any worth—turned up ahead, and his face lit up when he saw them. He wore an Alliance uniform and stood to attention when they reached him, saluting John.

"Good to see you again, sir! I didn't know you were back on the ship, or I'd have met you on the docks. You must be Garrus." He held his hand out to shake.

"This is Logan Winters," John said. "He'll be our yeoman on the ship."

"I'll be the what now, sir?"

"I'm going on a mission, and I want you with us. If you feel up to it."

Winters looked like he was going to cry. "Of course, sir. That is, um, if I have permission from my superiors. . ."

"Oh, I think you do," John said, typing into his omni-tool. "Report to the Anegawa, soldier."

"Yes, sir!"

Winters left them, a noticeable spring in his step. "And I suppose it'll be good to have him along too?" Garrus asked.

"Eh, maybe. I like him."

"Not thinking of trading me for a newer model, are you?" He gave John's hand a playful yank.

"You kidding? I could never go back to humans after you. Now, a younger, less mouthy turian, on the other hand. . ."

"You love my mouthy-ness. It's my best trait."

John grinned. "You're definitely right about that."

"But seriously," Garrus said. "What are you doing? We could call in the Normandy vets for this, or maybe take some people from Vega."

"I'm not taking Vega's crew. And I could call in the original Normandy crew for this, but we don't have time to wait for them. I trust Winters and Ari'Ka, Garrus; they won't let us down."

"Besides," Pallin said behind them, "you'll have me as well."

Garrus had almost blissfully forgotten he was there. "I don't know if the Anegawa has the same medical facilities as the Normandy. Mom won't be able to come."

John, looking ahead, smiled oh-so-slightly. Well, it was a bit clever.

"That's why I'm not bringing her."

Garrus spun on his heels. "Are you serious?" Pallin hadn't left his mother's side since the War. "She needs you more than we do."

"We both know that isn't true, Garrus. She'll chew me out later, but she can do it with you and Solana safe. Now, let's get to the damn ship." Pallin continued ahead, leaving Garrus to decide whether to be proud or worried.

* * *

 

**Solana**

They were prepared for an assault at any moment on the elevator back up to the surface. It was the only way any of them knew to get out—the way Drineax came in required hovering to reach, and only he had that capability. He said nothing the whole way back, his usual wit evaporated from the heat of anger, but he drew the gun he borrowed from Zaeed along with everyone else in the packed elevator.

When the doors opened, however, there was no one taking aim, no one with a bomb or a shotgun to cut them all down. The way ahead was eerily quiet. "Does he not know this is here?" Solana asked.

"He knows," Drineax said, his voice cracking slightly. "He knows every single hole in this place by heart. He might not know we'd use it though."

"Well," Zaeed said, "let's not look gift horses in the ass." He left the elevator first, stepping lightly, as though expecting a trap. "Come on. This way."

He led them through Omega's market, which had become a ghost town. Stalls were shuttered up, television screens turned off; not a thief or bum in sight. The silence was unnerving. There had been some people up here before they went down with Aria, Solana was sure of it.

Benaka broke the silence first. "You hear that?" She asked.

Everyone stopped to listen. "I don't hear anything," Caelon said.

"Exactly. Shouldn't we be hearing gunfire? Explosions? Aren't Archangel's forces engaging Aria's by now? We could hear Afterlife's noise from here easily enough, so it's not distance that's the problem."

Everyone looked at Drineax. He merely shrugged.

"Whatever's going on," Solana said, "we need to be far away from it. We'll hide out until Aldus shuts down the quarantine field, then—"

"Then we can get shot by his men as we try to find a shuttle off this rock," Zaeed interrupted.

"I'll tell Garrus it's safe to come in, and he and Shepard can—"

"Land on a hostile pseudoplanet ruled by a psychopath?"

Drineax shook his head. "Sorry, but the scary guy's right. The docks are the first thing he's gonna go after. We could try to take a ship headed offworld, but we'll definitely meet resistance, and he'll be prepared, too. Same if your brother tries to land; he pissed him off good. Besides, I'd rather stay here. I have some things I want to say to him."

Solana sighed. She couldn't give up now. "So what do we do? Hide until we die? Charge at Aldus again and get killed?"

Nobody responded, so she let the questions hang in the air as they made their way through the market. Nobody stopped them to try and sell goods of varying legality, nobody tried to steal from them or stop them with guns. It was oddly peaceful.

The quiet extended to the surface. In the open air, she expected at least to see someone in the street or in an alleyway. But the streets were bare and the alleys quiet; what windows there were were dark, homes either unoccupied or closed off to the world. At no point during her time on Omega did the place seem so deserted.

There was a crackling sound from overhead. The quarantine field flickered once, twice, and faded away, tendrils of energy thinning out into nothing. She looked up at a black sky tinged with red.

"We can call Garrus now," she said. She opened her omni-tool.

* * *

 

**Shepard**

The Anegawa was a fast, capable ship, but Shepard could never get used to it.

It wasn't as though he had never served on Alliance ships before. But the Normandy had been his for so long that he'd forgotten just how unique it really was. The Anegawa lacked the turian inspired designs of the Normandy; the map was at the forefront of the ship instead of the center, at the end of the bow. It fulfilled the same function as the Normandy's central elevated platform, of course, but it was much less dramatic.

That was not the only difference. Doorways were shorter, forcing Garrus to duck slightly whenever he entered a room. The kitchen was stocked exclusively with levo-amino food and cooking implements. They had to scramble to procure turian-friendly supplies at the last minute; Garrus sniffed at the protein bars with trepidation. Pallin stood at the helm like the Captain, apparently unconcerned about the ship's accommodations.

The pilot of the Anegawa, Sergio Petrov, a short man in his middle years, had greeted Shepard like an old friend. "Commander Shepard!" The man said in his thick accent. "You will be joining us, yes? And your family too? Excellent! I may not fly like Joker, but me and this ship, we go way, way back. Outran three Reapers in the Argos Rho cluster during the War, though we really have Tweety to thank for that."

"'Tweety'?"

"Here, I'll show you."

Petrov led Shepard down to the ship's hangar, which was smaller than the Normandy's, but still large enough for a terrain vehicle. However, instead of the Mako, the hangar was home to a small satellite. The shape reminded him of the Apollo 11.

"Beautiful, eh?" Petrov said. "We rigged Tweety here up on scraps from fuel stations and old drive cores. We'd launch her ahead into a Relay, and she'd scan the system on the other side for Reapers."

"This little thing can scan an entire system?"

"Well, most of it. The parts most likely to be active. Anyway, if she picked up Reapers, she'd jump back in the Relay and come back to us, and we'd check on the next system instead. Like sending a canary into a coal mine; if it doesn't come back, you know it's not safe. At least we never flew blind."

"I'm surprised the Reapers didn't find it. They always picked up our own scans."

"Oh, they did, many times, but she always stayed near the Relays for a quick getaway. She's not much use now—she's based on the old Relay designs, not these new ones the asari built. But the Alliance used her as a prototype for a little while. We're proud of her."

They returned to the bridge, and Petrov took the controls. "It's good to fly again."

"I didn't know the Anegawa was decommissioned."

"Not yet, but as good as. We've been running errands, delivering supplies, and the like. We don't even have a Commander, not until you, anyway. No real work for a ship like this. No, this is _real_ flying."

"Just get us to Omega as soon as possible."

"You want ASAP?" Petrov cracked his knuckles and chuckled. "I can do ASAP."

If Joker and Petrov ever met, the galaxy might not survive.

* * *

 

**Garrus**

Garrus had always considered the Normandy a human ship, despite its history. The Anegawa proved how wrong he was.

He sat in a chair in the mess—this ship had so many chairs! Didn't they know sitting so much was bad for their health? — munching on a food bar. It tasted as bad as it looked and smelled, but his mind was occupied with more important matters. Like how he was going to keep his sister _and_ his father alive.

Unfortunately, Ari'Ka had decided to hover around him as though he were a mother hen. The raloi stared at _everything_ as if it was completely new to him: the tables, the walls, the computers. Garrus could only imagine the awe he would experience once he encountered the toilets. Well, everything there might actually _be_ new to him. How advanced was raloi spaceflight? Did they have real ships yet, or were they still flying metal boxes full of computers and tools in a void they barely understood?

His omni-tool beeped. He dropped the food bar when he saw it was from Solana. "Sol? Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm glad to hear your voice, Garrus." She sounded exhausted. "Listen. Aria's dead.

Garrus stood. John entered the mess, and Garrus waved him over to listen. "What happened?"

"Aldus got to her. I don't know if he's seized power yet, but—we're in real trouble down here, Garrus."

"We're on our way. We can meet you at the docks, and—"

"We've talked about that. Aldus will be waiting for you, for us, to try to escape. I don't think you should—hey!"

"Look, Garrus," a new voice came on the line. "You should check out the Omega-4 Relay. He's got something behind that thing, I know it."

"Who— _Drineax?_ "

"Will you let go of my arm?" He heard Solana say on the other side, followed by the sounds of struggling. "Ahh! Sorry about that."

"Why is he—"

"A lot's happened, okay? Look, just stay out of trouble here and let me figure this out. Don't try to land. I'll call you if things change. Be careful."

She hung up, leaving Garrus staring at his arm.

John sat in the chair next to Garrus. "Everything okay?"

Garrus shook his head. "Aria's dead."

John leaned back and breathed a deep sigh. "Wow. That's hard to believe. I kinda thought she'd take Omega with her. And Archangel?"

"Still alive, apparently. And gunning for us, if we try to land."

John nodded. "We should get your father and fill him in. We need to plan this out."

Pallin joined them in the ship's command center, the part of the ship that would house the galaxy map on the Normandy. Here, it was just a wide, round desk with a holograph projector in the center for making calls and displays. Winters and Ari'Ka were with them as well, having been swept up in the action.

"We're landing, right?" Pallin asked.

"I want to," John said, "but I don't like the idea of a firefight on the docks. There could be innocent bystanders, for one thing, and I'd hate to return the Anegawa with holes in it, for another."

"What about the business with the Omega-4 Relay?" Winters asked. "What if there really is something there?"

Garrus typed some commands into the terminal on the desk, and a hologram of the Relay appeared before them. "I've been to the other side of that Relay, and I'm not sure I agree with Drineax's assessment. Cerberus cleaned the debris up on the other side, I heard, but the very space there is dangerous. It leads to near the center of the Milky Way."

"On top of that," Pallin said, "there've been reports of ships attempting to make the trek across the Relay in the past few years, to salvage parts or establish a base or some other fool reason. Very few ever return, and the ones that do come back empty-handed. No, even if Aldus has something there—maybe some sort of weapon—it can wait until the man himself is dealt with."

John leaned forward. "Maybe, but what if he found something? From what Solana's told us, the man practically worships that Relay. If he thinks he has a weapon behind it capable of changing the game, I don't like not knowing what it is. And there's something else that's bothering me: if he _does_ have a weapon beyond that Relay, why hasn't he used it?"

"Maybe there isn't a weapon," Garrus said. "Maybe he succeeded where others failed and established a base there, like the Collectors. Maybe he keeps reserve forces or supplies there."

"This guessing does nothing for us," Pallin said, "and I stand by my original statement. If there's a weapon, he can't use it if he's dead. If there's a base, it will be useless without him. We need to focus on him first and deal with the Relay—assuming there's anything there at all—later. This ship is hardly equipped to go into the Omega-4 anyway."

That much was definitely true. When the Normandy went through the Omega-4 Relay, they had to rig the ship with the most advanced—and illegal—tech available. Garrus had checked on the guns in the Anegawa, and they weren't even up to par with the Normandy's original weapons; they were small, built for spreading fire and warding off opponents rather than killing them, creating as much cover as possible for escape rather than combat. Enough direct shots would kill an opponent, but any foe worth their salt would have them downed before they could get that many in.

"I have to agree, John," he said. "Even if there's something there, we can't do anything about it right now. We should go to Omega."

John nodded. "Okay. But I have an idea I want to try out first. Now, about landing on Omega itself: any ideas?"

Nobody spoke up, and unfortunately, all of Garrus' ideas involved armed combat. Ari'Ka tentatively raised a hand.

"Speak, Ambassador."

"Well, I'm new to this, as you know, but. . .do they know we're coming?"

"If by 'they' you mean Aldus and his forces, no. They might expect us to come eventually, but they're not looking for us in the immediate future."

Ari'Ka nodded. "And they're expecting you, Shepard, yes? And your husband?"

John nodded.

"Well," Ari'Ka noted, "your names are linked to the other ship. I've never heard of the Normandy without it being referred to as your ship, Shepard. So perhaps they won't expect you to be on the Anegawa. Maybe you can park the ship under false pretenses and sneak off?"

Everyone considered it for a moment, but Garrus saw a problem. "I doubt we'll be able to just sneak off a ship. We could don our helmets and pretend to be someone else, but if there really are guards on the docks, they'd be idiots not to check. Still, it's a good backup." He looked at Ari'Ka, who seemed to shrink a little.

"Raloi are very good at finding ways to avoid conflict," the Ambassador said.

"So we know," Pallin replied. "What about a pincer attack? We let Solana and the others know we're coming, they hide in wait for us, and when we arrive, we attack any hostiles from the front while her group takes the rear."

John shook his head. "The only people on this ship who are any good with guns are you, me, and Garrus. No offense, Winters, but I'm not sure you're combat material."

"None taken, sir. I can shoot a pistol well enough, but that isn't much use in a firefight."

John turned to Ari'Ka. "Ambassador, I know you're a good enough shot." He grinned as if at an inside joke. "But I doubt you want to get involved in something like that. No, a shootout will only risk us and the ship. Besides, we want to avoid that much attention, remember?"

Pallin growled. "Then what are we supposed to do?"

John clapped his hands together. "I need a word with the pilot. We'll get there, Pallin, I promise." He looked at Garrus when he said it too. A promise to him held greater weight. "But I want to be smart about this."

Pallin crossed his arms. "Don't wait too long, or I'll go myself."

With that, they were dismissed.

* * *

 

**Solana**

"What would he have behind the Relay?"

They all sat on the floor of an abandoned living room. They had decided to change hideouts to somewhere farther from Afterlife, within the slums. This area was more populated, but aside from the wayward glances of some bums, people left them alone. They had too many weapons to mess with, after all. The home—it was more like a cave with a door—was situated near an older district where the clinics were set up.

Drineax shrugged. Ever since he mentioned it to Garrus—it would have been nice to receive that information themselves—they had grilled him on it, and anything else they could think of that might be used against Aldus. Unfortunately, he didn't know much more than she had. Aldus had been very open with his secrets, as though completely unafraid of retaliation; whatever he kept to himself was known only to himself.

"I have no idea what he has; hell, I might even be wrong, and he might have nothing. But you saw how he looks at the thing! If I worshiped a piece of technology, it would have to do something pretty fucking fantastic for me, don't you think?"

"The Relay is the last piece of working Reaper tech in the galaxy," Lutis said. He kept his gaze trained on the wall, as if seeing something that wasn't there. "And our guy is two steps away from being a full-blown Reaper himself. Maybe he feels some sort of connection to it, a byproduct of indoctrination."

"That. . .actually makes some sense," Drineax admitted. "But he's confident for a guy with no backup plan, wouldn't you say? I _always_ have a backup plan. Several. And he's a hell of a lot smarter than I am." He raised his hands. "I'm just saying, someone should probably look into it. Someone who's not me."

"None of us will be looking into it," Zaeed said. "Not unless you have a way to get there."

They were trapped again. This time, they didn't even have Aria to get them out.

Solana rubbed her neck. It didn't hurt as much as before; perhaps it just seemed that way, since everything else hurt too. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lantar peer at her with concern. He was very nurturing for someone who thought he got everyone around him killed. She hoped he wouldn't try something stupid like go looking for ice for her neck; he needed rest, too, and they couldn't take such a risk. They hadn't had a chance to talk alone since their night together. Perhaps this holdup would at least give them that.

She stood up and stepped outside. The field was gone, but she still felt like she was trapped in a net, unable to wriggle free. Supply shuttles drifted in and out of the atmosphere, finally free to move again.

Her omni-tool beeped. At least she could talk to Garrus.

"Please tell me you have a plan, Garrus."

"Working on it. We might be delayed. Your friend put it in John's head that there might be something behind the Omega-4 Relay. Mind explaining that?"

She rolled her eyes. Fucking Drineax. "The going theory right now is that Aldus worships the Relay due to indoctrination, not because there's something significant there. We need you here, Garrus. Talk to Shepard and make him realize that."

"I'll talk to him, Sol, but I promise we'll get there, one way or another. We're just having trouble thinking of a plan to get in without causing a firefight."

Solana looked back up at the sky. The supply ships. . .she would have to talk it over with the others, but it could work.

"I might have an idea," she said.

* * *

 

**Shepard**

The Omega-4 Relay, its crimson core glimmering maliciously in space, floated before him once again.

 _I'm baaaack._ He smiled. He wasn't supposed to have survived his first trip beyond that Relay, but he pulled his crew through, and here he was. He lost half of his crew to the Collectors preparing for the jump, but if he hadn't, they all would have lost their lives.

For whatever reason, this particular Relay remained when all the others had been destroyed by the Crucible. The endlessly gyrating rings around the pulsing red core seemed to mock him. The Anegawa could never hope to make the jump through the Relay; without a Reaper IFF or something similar, the resulting drift from the jump would launch them straight into either the supermassive black hole on the other side or into a debris field.

The same did not go for Tweety, however.

Garrus, Pallin, Winters, and Ari'Ka were there too. The cockpit was larger than on the Normandy, so there was enough room for all of them, but it was crowded. Garrus glared at the Relay like an old enemy he never expected to see again.

"Petrov, is Tweety ready?"

"Yes sir. What's more, we managed to rig her up with some new toys. She'll be able to send us a visual now; only what's in range of her own sensors, of course, but still. If there's something there, we should be able to see it."

Shepard nodded. "Good. Make the jump."

"Yes," Pallin said. "Let's get this nonsense over with."

Petrov put in some commands on his console. "Preparing launch. Depressurizing hangar bay; stand by for opening."

The ship rattled as the hangar opened beneath them.

"Tweety is live, Shepard."

The windows of the cockpit changed into a grainy display of the Omega-4 Relay increasing in size as Tweety approached.

Garrus had tried to talk him out of this. It was true that, rationally, this was a waste of time. But as he stared at the Omega-4, he knew, deep in his bones, that something was there.

"Relay jump in five. . .four. . .three. . .two. . .one. . ."

The display showed the Relay powering up, sending a charge to the satellite, then the visual warped as Tweety was launched several hundred times faster than the speed of light, reappearing almost instantaneously on the other side.

It was like a camera peering into Hell itself.

Rocks and space junk dotted the immense light of the supermassive black hole, which, though still thousands of light years away, churned with impossible size and power, large enough to engulf hundreds of solar systems, strong enough to anchor the entire Milky Way galaxy to a somewhat-fixed point in space. It was amazing to behold. Very few had ever seen it and lived, and most of them had been on the Normandy.

Tweety hovered through the space junk. Every few seconds, a sonar-like beep kept them aware of its status. The display rotated slowly in a 3-dimensional panorama of the area; they saw the Relay connected to the Omega-4, the ruins of ships that had tried to make the leap, the junk and debris all making a gradual line toward the black hole's event horizon. The area was indeed less cluttered than when the Normandy made the same jump, likely due to Cerberus cleaning up the field after Shepard's successful jump. The Illusive Man had wanted that Collector base bad.

"This is incredible," Petrov said.

"Yes," Pallin replied, a touch of awe in his voice despite his best efforts. "But I'm not seeing anything that looks like a weapon."

"Petrov, how far can Tweety go before it has to turn back?"

"As long as we can keep connected to the Relay, Tweety can go on until the power runs out."

Any speck of trash could be a mountain-sized weapon if they could just get close enough to see. The panorama continued to show them a sweep of the area. The display crackled in spots.

"Hold it," Shepard said. There was a speck on the display that seemed different from the others. "Can you zoom in there?"

The display zoomed in as far as it could go, but the speck just got blurrier. Still, it definitely seemed off. Too uniform. And with small. . .dots along the edges.

"Aim Tweety for that," Shepard said. "I want to get a closer look."

"Adjusting course."

The image slowly became less and less blurry as the satellite advanced closer, but it was still difficult to spot a defined shape.

"Huh," Winters said, leaning in close. "It looks like a bug."

Shepard looked at Winters with his heart sinking into his stomach. Winters looked back, confused at first, then his skin went deathly pale.

The image came in clearer and clearer. It really did look like a bug. Yes, those little dots on the sides—they were like legs.

"Oh, god," Petrov said. His voice shook.

Garrus' mandibles fluttered viciously. "That's not possible."

Ari'Ka looked at the image and back at them. "What?" He asked. "What is it?"

There was a tiny spot of red emanating from the object. The beam hit its target, and the visual went dark. Tweety would not be returning from this mine.

Shepard stood, gripping his hands behind his back so hard that his knuckles hurt. "Is there any doubt what we just saw?"

Everyone but Ari'Ka shook their heads. Even Pallin shook his head, the movement jerky and quivering.

"I still don't know what it was," Ari'Ka said, his voice timid, as though he knew he should be afraid but wasn't sure why. Well, he was smart to feel so.

"That, Ambassador," Shepard said, keeping his voice low, "was a Reaper."

Somehow, one of them had survived.

* * *

 

**Solana**

Lutis began screaming in the middle of the night, waking the rest.

They found him in the living room, writhing on the floor, his makeshift cot tossed aside. He held his ears in his hands as he screamed.

"It's so loud! How can you not hear it?!"

Zaeed pinned Lutis, but the turian continued his struggling. "He's going to let the whole goddamned station know we're here!"

"Lutis," Solana said, getting on the floor to his side. "What do you hear? What is it?"

Tears streamed down Lutis' face. He was sobbing between screams. "The Regent's coming! It'll claim us, all of us, for the inevitable! _The Regent is coming!_ "

He stiffened suddenly, his eyes and mouth wide open. He took several deep, shuddering breaths, then curled up, burying his head in his arms as he sobbed. "It's supposed to be gone," she heard him say. "It's supposed to be gone. It's supposed to be. . ."

Benaka looked to them. "I'll stay with him. The rest of you should get a medic."

The clinics weren't far, but it was late, and a medic would be hard to find. Solana also had a feeling that no physical medicine would help Lutis here. But even if they could find something to knock him out. . .

They left the building and made for the clinics.

"What the hell was that all about?" Zaeed said.

"Sol," Lantar said. "Remember what I heard Aldus say? He said he would be Omega's Regent."

Solana nodded. "Okay, but what the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know, but this can't be a coincidence." He looked to Drineax, but Drineax just shrugged.

"Don't look at me; this is the first I'm hearing about this Regent stuff."

"Lutis has been acting weird lately," Caelon said. "I mean, he's usually a little off, you know? But ever since that quarantine field went down, he's been jumping at shadows and muttering to himself. Maybe Garrus knows what's up with him; he has his dossier."

As if on cue, her omni-tool beeped. She opened it.

"Solana, get as far away from Aldus and Afterlife as you can, right now."

"Garrus, Lutis just had some sort of meltdown. What's—"

"Damn it. It might be a reaction. Sol, you need to get away from him, too."

"What? That's not—"

"He's indoctrinated, Solana, or at least in the beginning stages of it. We just found a living Reaper beyond the Omega-4. One survived. He's reacting to it."

That stopped them all in their tracks.

"Holy shit," she said. "Holy shit. A full-fledged Reaper survived? How? Are you sure?"

"Sure as we can be, and I have no damned idea how it's still alive, but Aldus is connected somehow. I'm sure of it. Get to the opposite end of the station if you have to."

"We can't leave Lutis like this!"

"Solana, I have no idea what he's capable of or if he can be trusted with a live Reaper anywhere near Omega. I don't like it either, but you have to get away from him."

There was a crash behind them, back the way they came.

They turned and ran for the building. "I have to go," Solana said.

"Sol-!"

She hung up. The house was just ahead; she could see smoke coming from the area. The doors were across the street, debris flung everywhere. At the center, in what was the living room, Benaka clutched an orange wound at her side.

"It was Lutis. He jumped me good," she said, straining. "I can't believe the strength he had. He ran off that way."

The direction she pointed led toward Afterlife.

"Here," Solana said. She gave Benaka some omni-gel canisters for her wound. It was superficial by krogan standards, but they would all need their strength at a hundred percent for what was coming.

Drineax furiously scratched the back of his head with all six talons. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck!_ How can this happen? Everything was planned out, everything was going so smoothly. . ."

They all looked daggers at him.

"Well, it was. From my end, anyway. Hey, don't look at me like I brought the Reapers back from the dead, okay?"

"If Lutis went to Afterlife, then Aldus will likely know where we are within the hour," Solana said. "We need to go. _Now._ "

"Go where?" Caelon raised his arms. "Where's safe? There's no such thing as safe anymore!"

"He's right," Lantar said. "Aldus and the Reaper, both hovering around Omega? It can't be a coincidence. We have to get off this rock. You were right before, Sol. I'm sorry."

Solana shook her head. "I don't accept this. We've killed Reapers before. We killed _all_ of them! We can stop this one, whatever it wants with Omega." _I will_ _ **not**_ _run from them again._

She stood and faced the road where Lutis went. The road back to Afterlife.

"We're the only ones who can," she said. "If the Reaper wants Omega, that can't be a good thing. We have to make sure it doesn't get what it wants."

She opened her omni-tool back up, but she didn't call Garrus.

"Hello?" Shepard answered on the other end. She had never called him before; it made sense that he didn't recognize her number.

"You know more than anyone about killing these things," Solana said. "So you and Garrus get your asses down here and help us fight!"

There was a brief pause. "Give me a few hours," Shepard said. "I have some people I need to call."

"Make it quick. We might have that much time."

"Will do."

Shepard hung up, then Solana called Garrus.

"Sol, I heard what you told John. You have to—"

"Sidonis is down here with me, Garrus. He's saved my life and our father's life and I'm sleeping with him. Deal with it and get down here."

She hung up and closed her omni-tool. Lantar looked mortified. Well, he'd have to deal with it too, sooner or later.

Zaeed laughed, a hearty, psychotic sound she never thought she'd hear. "Finally! I was starting to wonder where your brother's crazy gene was at!"

"Caelon," she said, and he flinched when she pointed at him. "I want names, maps, any info you can hack up that might be useful to us. Lantar, Zaeed and Drineax, you three get ready to fight, Lantar covering with sniper fire, Zaeed and Drin on point."

"Um," Drineax said, "I don't really _do_ 'on point.'"

She spun on him. "You'll _do_ as I tell you or I will feed you to Garrus myself when he gets here."

Drineax grinned. "Don't threaten me with a good time, baby." But he stepped back and ceased protesting.

"Benaka, you and I are going to set some traps."

Benaka rumbled an approving sound.

Somehow, the stakes had changed. The battle was no longer them against Aldus. It was them against the greatest threat the galaxy had ever known. She hadn't been ready the last time; nobody had. But she _would_ be ready this time. She would be ready, and she would face it. No matter what.


	30. Old Wounds

**Shepard**

In the span of minutes, everything had changed. He should have been used to that feeling by now.

He stared at the Omega-4 Relay, watching its rings rotate hypnotically across its core over and over again. The Reapers had built the original Relays, and the oldest Reapers were a billion years old. How long had those rings been gyrating in that same pattern? A million years? A hundred million? But only these last five or so minutes were the most significant in this Relay's lifetime.

He became aware of Garrus speaking to him. "Hm? I'm sorry, Garrus, I didn't catch that."

"I said, we need to come up with a plan here. Are you all right? You look dazed."

Shepard took a deep breath. "I'm feeling great. Let's go."

Word had already gotten out of what they saw. The crew of the Anegawa murmured amongst eachother, not wanting to speak their fears too loudly in Commander Shepard's presence. As if they might jinx it or something.

"I see you picked your jaw up off the floor," he said to Garrus. It had been quite a sight, once Solana hung up on him. Shepard even got a picture.

"Is this really the time for banter?" Garrus asked, but he kept his eyes stone-dead ahead of him. "Solana's in danger, now more than ever. Especially if. . .spirits, she can't really be serious."

The others—Pallin, Winters, and Ari'Ka, as well as Petrov—were already in the command center, the table aglow before them. "Are they ready yet?" Shepard asked Winters.

"They aren't happy, sir. Some of them were asleep." Winters said it with a voice as though he literally could not have something less significant to worry about.

"I'm sure they'll find it in their hearts to forgive us."

One by one, figures appeared hovering above the table, until they numbered nine in all. Each image was just slightly larger than their real-life counterparts—a little optical illusion to make them believe they were smaller. Winters tipped him off on that nifty feature.

"What is this about, Shepard?" Councilor Sparatus said.

He folded his hands behind his back. "I wanted to inform you all of a minor update to our situation."

Through the hologram, he could almost see a couple of the councilors gape. The others in the command center looked at eachother like they were sharing a room with a madman. Well, maybe they were. They were in the most danger they had been in in years—the most danger  _anyone_ had been in in years—and he felt strangely giddy.

"You called all nine members of the Council," the human councilor said. What was her name? Loyal, that's right. "For a  _minor update_?"

"Well, minor by my standards. You see, we found a Reaper."

Quiet. They also thought he was crazy. Well, if nothing else proved he was sane. . .

"This is not a joking matter, Shepard." Shala'Raan's face was hidden by her helmet—that must have been an incredible asset in politics, like having a permanent poker face in Vegas; he wondered if she'd ever take it off, now that she was the most powerful quarian in the galaxy—but her voice was deadly serious.

"I'm not joking. There's a Sovereign-class Reaper on the other side of the Omega-4 Relay. And it's alive."

_Now_ they looked nervous.

Petrov cleared his throat. "Sergio Petrov, councilors. Pilot of the Anegawa. I can confirm Shepard's claim. We also have visual confirmation."

"You're sure about this, Shepard?" Sparatus said, going so far as to step closer to the camera. " _Absolutely_ sure?"

"As sure as I've ever been sure of anything, councilor."

He winked at Winters. He'd mentioned bringing up his past Reaper sightings, and reminding the Council of its previous decisions on such matters. Subtly, of course.

"This changes everything," Sparatus said. "Everything. How could one have survived? The entire galaxy—"

"I have a theory on that, actually." Shepard nodded to Petrov. "Have you heard of Tweety, councilor?"

He explained Tweety's function, and its role in the War for the Anegawa.

"I figure this Reaper pulled a Tweety maneuver. It knew the blast that killed all the other Reapers was coming, so it retreated through the only Relay that blast never touched. The only place in the galaxy that was safe for it. It must have already been near the Omega-4 for it to have moved so fast. I figure it's waiting at the core, maybe recharging its batteries for a few centuries."

The others considered his idea. It was the best explanation he had, and probably the best anyone would ever have.

"So it's alone," Sparatus said. "Trapped near the galactic core. It's not a threat."

"I wouldn't go that far," Shepard replied. "Remember, it took just one Reaper to nearly bring down the Citadel. I think this one has a similar interest in Omega."

"Sovereign wanted the Citadel for the Relay that was there," Loyal said. She seemed less put off by mentions of Sovereign than Sparatus did; probably because she wasn't the one to dismiss the Reapers as a fantasy. "Why would it want Omega? What could that rock possibly have?"

Shepard shrugged. "I don't know. We know Omega's insanely old, maybe by millions of years. We also know nothing about its origins or what its original purpose was. Maybe the whole station is another Reaper construction, just like the Citadel. Maybe it's a backup plan in case the Reapers were ever defeated. Or maybe it's just the closest point to the Reaper's new home behind the Omega-4. What I do know is that Aria T'Loak is dead and Archangel is indoctrinated, putting Omega in direct control of a Reaper. We saw what happened when an indoctrinated turian took control of the Citadel. Do we want to repeat that here?"

They all stood on shaky feet now, looking to eachother for someone to make the next step.

Sparatus took it. "We'll send in a strike force. We're going to include the Normandy. Shepard, I put you in command of the Normandy and all forces we send until further notice."

"Can the Normandy make the trip across the Omega-4 Relay again?"

"No. The Reaper IFF you used to cross the Relay before was since removed."

"Do we have any comparable tech we can use?"

Lidanya shook her head. "Nobody crosses that Relay and there are no known resources on the other side to make it worthwhile. Developing the tech necessary to make the jump safely just hasn't been a priority these past few years."

"So how do you plan to attack the Reaper if we can't even reach it?"

"We'll discuss it when your troops are in place," Sparatus replied. "Until then, maintain observation of the Relay and Omega. Stay in touch."

The call disconnected before Shepard could object. Pallin slammed his fists against the console. "Damn it!"

"We're going to Omega next, Pallin," Shepard said. "I'm not leaving Solana to this, don't worry."

"It's not that," Pallin growled. "Don't you get it? We can't fight this Reaper, not while it's behind that Relay. The Council can't leave it there either, so they're going to do the next best thing."

Realization dawned on Shepard, and he hit the console too. "Fuck! They're going to destroy the Relay!"

Unable to fight the Reaper, the Council would trap it instead. It was a good plan, except for one problem: destroying the Relay would destroy Omega as well.

* * *

**Solana**

Solana approached the Afterlife entrance hesitantly, unsure what to expect. They had watched the area for the past hour, and people appeared to be coming and going with relative freedom. Soldiers, mainly, rather than Afterlife's previous clientele; they all had guns and armor, but nobody shot at eachother.

A couple of guards stood at the entrance, much more haphazardly than before; they clearly no longer expected an attack. She recognized the asari from before, the one with Eclipse. "What's going on over here?"

The asari didn't seem to recognize Solana, or she just didn't care. "New management. What's your business?"

So Eclipse had worked out a deal with Aldus. Aria had lost a long time ago; she simply never realized it. Well, at least she knew who her enemies were.

She nodded thanks to the guard and turned to leave. "Hold it," the asari said behind her. Solana peered over her shoulder; the guard was looking at an image in her omni-tool.  _Her_ image. "By the goddess, it's her!"

Solana turned and threw a shockwave directly at Afterlife's front door. The locking mechanism crackled and the doors opened up, letting loose a torrent of armed guards. She took off then, running in a zigzag motion to dodge fire. She looked behind her; they were chasing after her. Perfect. She kept her shield up to deflect any of her pursuers' lucky shots and made for the alley, ducking behind some strategically positioned garbage cans.

The asari followed her in, her gun raised, flanked by two krogan. The others waited at the end, or found a way to circle around to the alley's other side. "Come out, girl. I know you're there."

Just a few more steps. . .a sudden crackling lit up the alley with blue light, and the asari jerked up straight. The combined energy of her and Benaka's biotic shock didn't have as much of an effect on her as it did on the krogan; they made blubbering noises as the trap closed in on their suits and fried them with their own equipment. She suspected most of that power came from Benaka.

A gunshot sounded behind her and the asari fell, alive but bleeding. Solana spun a biotic cage around the guard and snapped it in place, hoping the injury would keep the asari from trying to undo the biotic energy surrounding her. Zaeed emerged from the alley, holding his smoking gun.

Shouts came from further down the alley; Lantar and the others had engaged the other pursuers. After only a few minutes, all noise ceased, and the others joined them with one living captive, a human, that Drineax dragged along the ground.

"Tell the new boss I said 'hi,'" he said, then he shot the human in the foot. He cried out in pain and groaned as he limped away, ignoring the asari in her biotic cage.

Solana spun on Drineax. "You could have told us about Eclipse!"

He put on a confused, innocent look. "Didn't I? I must have overlooked that particular detail after finding out I devoted my life to a genocidal machine zombie."

"If you're going to help us, if we're going to help  _you,_ then you need to be honest with us about everything. Or you can go after Aldus yourself and see how long you last alone."

"I expect it'll be about a five-minute difference, to be honest. But okay." He crossed his heart. "Total transparency from here on out. Now, what do we do about this one?" He nodded toward the asari. "Ooh, can we cut her up and send the pieces to Archangel as a message?"

Solana pushed him away. "We need information. Numbers, weapons, anything we can use."

Caelon could hack the guard's omni-tool for information as well, but that would take time, and she didn't know how much time she had. If Lutis hadn't given away their position—she hoped he went somewhere besides Afterlife, poor man—then the one Drineax shot definitely would. But it didn't matter if Aldus knew where to find them; all she had to do was hold steady until Garrus arrived.

Spirits. There was a live Reaper just a Relay jump away from them. It had been there all this time, and Aldus had some connection to it. What if it attacked? What if they were too late to stop whatever Aldus planned? This had to be bigger than just Omega. How could they stop him?

She took a deep breath.  _Focus. One problem at a time._ She dispelled the cage surrounding the asari and the others led her away at gunpoint.

Her omni-tool beeped. "Garrus."

"Sol. Bad news."

"I  _really_ don't know how much more bad news I can take."

"The Council wants to deal with the Reaper. We think they might try to destroy the Omega-4 Relay to trap it at the galactic core."

"What?" Destroying a Relay would trigger a blast more powerful than a supernova. Hell, it could potentially trigger a supernova! "That would take Omega out too!"

"I know. They might think that's a good thing; it takes out the Reaper and Aldus, as well as removes Omega from their list of problems. 'Three birds, one rock.'"

"There are millions of people here, Garrus! We can't just—"

The magnitude suddenly hit her. "They won't wait for us to get out of here, will they?"

"They haven't been helpful on that front so far. I can hear the reasoning now: 'This is more important than a few individuals. . .'"

She paced back and forth. "Okay, so stall them."

"Stall the Council? Sol, we need to get you out of there."

She couldn't just leave. Omega was a hellhole, but it was a home for too many people. But if the Council really was intent on destroying the Relay, what could she do? She couldn't stop something like that.

She couldn't. . .but someone else could.

"Garrus, I'm not leaving."

"Sol—"

"In fact, I think you should come down here and help me."

"The Council won't wait. . ."

"Not for me, but they will for Commander Shepard's husband."

She waited for Garrus to respond. "Okay," he said, "that might work. And you might be an evil genius. But you might just get us all killed."

"I'm willing to risk that. Now, I had an idea earlier about how you can get here. . ."

* * *

**Garrus**

They combined ideas.

Now that Aria's quarantine field was lifted, supply shuttles filtered in and out of Omega airspace freely, rushing to meet missed quotas and deadlines. Presumably they were all piloted by Archangel supporters; possibly regular people who didn't care whose ass sat in the throne, as long as they could go about business peacefully. Garrus hoped for the former. Either way, what Ari'Ka had said before had been correct: they wouldn't be expecting them to be onboard the Anegawa.

"But, Sol. . .what did you mean earlier? About Sidonis?"

"I meant what I said, Garrus."

"So it wasn't. . .code or a bad joke or anything?"

"No. He's down here. And I'm sleeping with him. Be nice."

"How in all hells—"

"Long story. Just remember that he saved my life. Dad's too, five years ago on Palaven." There was a crashing sound from Solana's end, and she made an annoyed noise. "Gotta go. Our prisoner's making a fuss."

The ship approached one supply shuttle, Pallin and Garrus loaded up and in full armor. They agreed that John would stay in space and try to deter the Council forces any way he could. Of all of them, he had the best chance to have any effect.

"Be careful," John said as they embraced. Garrus hated leaving him again, especially now, with a Reaper on the loose and the Council a pain in their ass. It would be like old times, except they would be separated. Garrus didn't have a good track record when he was separated from John.

But he had to go to Omega and set things right. Solana was down there and in danger.  _And Sidonis._ He shook his head. Why couldn't he have been killed by the Reapers, or simply been somewhere on the other side of the galaxy? Well, if he ran into Sidonis down there. . .he'd deal with it.

The ships docked, and the airlock opened. Garrus and Pallin must have made quite the fearsome sight, stepping through the airlock with their guns and armor, because the supply shuttle's crew had their hands raised and knees buckled almost immediately. As if they'd actually fire a gun in a pressurized cabin.

They took the shuttle and made a u-turn, heading back down to Omega.

* * *

**Shepard**

The Normandy came through the Omega-2 Relay first, soon followed by hundreds of ships. Human, turian, salarian, asari, volus, even some of the makeshift krogan and quarian vessels were counted in their number. It was an impressive display for such short notice. The Council could work quickly when they all agreed on something.

Shepard sipped his coffee.

"Shepard," Petrov's voice came in. "Comm request from the Normandy."

"Patch it through."

"Shepard," Vega's voice came through. "Please tell me someone heard wrong and this is all just a hilarious misunderstanding, like in the vids."

"Afraid not, Commander."

"Ay. How could one of these bastards survive?"

"Same way we survived, James: Luck."

"The bad kind, in our case. Well, let's get to work so we can all go home and laugh."

"Yeah. About that. . .I need you to stand down. All of you."

There was a long moment of silence on the other end. Shepard pictured James looking around at Joker, Joker shrugging, giving his  _How the hell should I know what he's talking about_ look. Shepard finished his coffee.

"Uhm. . .come again?"

"You're here to blow up the Relay, right?"

"I'm not at liberty to—"

"Right, so you know good and well what that means for Omega and everyone on it. Garrus is down there, James."

"Oh,  _shit._ "

"Yep. Petrov, could you open this channel to all the other ships, please?"

"Done, Commander."

"This Commander Shepard of the SSV Anegawa. The council has instructed you to destroy the Omega-4 Relay. I understand the sentiment. News of this discovery probably brought back a lot of buried nightmares for many of us. However, destroying this Relay will also destroy millions of lives. You are all aware of that, and perhaps you have determined that to be an acceptable price to pay. As someone who has made that same transaction, you are wrong."

He remembered the batarian who shot at him on the Ascension, and the hundreds of thousands who died in the Bahak System. He hadn't technically made that decision, but he was responsible for it all the same.

"The Protheans sacrificed entire worlds to stave off the Reapers. Billions of lives were lost in our own Cycle, but we did what millions of species before us could not: we won. Do not forget that. We  _beat_ these assholes, and we did it without giving them Earth, or Palaven, or Sur'Kesh, or Thessia. We kept our homes, and we found new ones. Now this one Reaper, this one asshole, shows up, and we're going to throw away this home on it? This home, full of people who also fought the Reapers right along with us? Did we really learn nothing these last few years?

"While you ponder those questions, know this: I will not allow Omega to be destroyed. Not for the Reaper, not for anything else. That leaves all of you with a problem. To get to the Omega-4 Relay, you have to go through me. Some of you might be willing to risk that; there are, after all, more of you than there are of me. If you're having such thoughts, then I suggest you remember: The Reapers killed and harvested millions of species every fifty thousand years, across the span of a billion years. I killed the Reapers in four. You decide who is more dangerous. Shepard out."

The comm link closed. Shepard picked up his mug and headed to the mess hall for more coffee.

* * *

**Solana**

"I really wish you wouldn't take my impending death so lightly." Lantar paced back and forth like an animal in a cage, waiting to be eaten. She was surprised a groove hadn't formed in the floor yet.

"We're all about to die anyway, right? Might as well have fun."

Lantar shook his head. "I'm serious, Sol. Your brother  _hates_ me. Last time we met, he promised to kill me if he ever saw me again. And you go and tell him I'm sleeping with his sister."

"He won't kill you, Lantar. He knows we have much more important things to deal with right now."

"So he'll kill me later."

She shrugged. "Maybe."

"I feel very comforted right now, thank you."

She put herself on his pacing path and put her arms around his neck. Pressed against his skin, she could feel his rapid heartbeat. He was genuinely afraid. But he was still here, too. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you," she said. "I'll be the one to protect you, for a change. But I need you and Garrus to put your grievances with eachother on hold for now. I need you here, Lantar, not stuck in the past. Okay? And what comes later. . .we'll deal with it."

He hugged her back, his arms around her waist, and nodded. "Okay. Okay." He straightened up as they let go of eachother. "I'll see if I can find you some ice for your neck. What about her?"

He pointed at the asari guard as he went into the other room. She glared at them, Benaka's biotics holding her upside-down in midair. Her mouth was closed shut with a tech gag Caelon designed.

"I think she's told us all she's going to tell us," Benaka said. "I can make her spin, if you want."

The asari's eyes bulged.

"Let her go. She won't be a problem for us. Will you?"

She shook her head. Benaka turned her around and gently set her down on her feet. The asari wobbled slightly as she left, like a drunk leaving a tavern.

The doors opened, and the asari jumped when she saw who was outside. It was Garrus. And. . .

"Dad?"

Garrus glanced at the asari, who promptly found her footing and ran. Solana embraced her father, who embraced her back in a strong way she couldn't remember feeling from him in a long time.

"You shouldn't be here," she said to him.

"You didn't think I'd sit in bed with you here, did you?"

"Mom will be furious."

"Yes, well, one crisis at a time."

She hugged Garrus too. He jerked his head toward the asari. She was almost to the end of the alley by now. "What was that about?"

"Fill you in later. Get inside."

She led the two of them into the open space. Lantar was still in the kitchen looking for ice. She saw Garrus search the area like a cop on a stakeout; calm, but taking in every detail, expecting a perp to pop out of the shadows any moment. Dealing with them would be harder than she thought.

Drineax wisely shrunk away in a corner, not saying a word, but his eyes were wide. Not with fear, but with the wonder a child would feel at seeing his favorite superhero in person. He waved. Garrus made a disgusted noise.

The rest of the team filled Garrus in on what had been going on. When the subject got to Lutis, however, things turned hostile.

"How the hell could you just let an indoctrinated  _hastatim_ agent walk around without telling the rest of us?" Zaeed said.

"I didn't know his history until recently," Garrus said calmly. "What's more, he had performed competently on previous missions. I also didn't know there was a live Reaper in nearby space. I had no reason to suspect he was a threat to anyone."

"Even so, you should have told us," Benaka said. "He could have killed us. He might have told Aldus what he knows about us. We could have prepared for this if—"

"Could any of us really have prepared for a Reaper to show up?" Caelon said. "I mean, a lot's happened that I didn't plan for, but  _that_ wasn't even on the 'maybe in a billion years' list. I'm just saying, maybe the benefit of the doubt applies here."

"Assign blame later," Solana said. It came out louder than she intended, but she didn't like seeing her brother being grilled like at a war tribunal. "We need to figure out what happens next."

"I say we just leave," Caelon said. "We're outnumbered and we've lost every fight we've been in with this guy. Garrus stole a shuttle to get here, we can steal one to get off. Cut our losses."

Pallin and Garrus shared a covert look over Solana's shoulder. "What do you two know?" She asked.

Garrus stepped forward. "There's. . .something else. With the Reaper on the other side of the Omega-4, the Council—" Garrus broke off, his eyes immediately focused on the other end of the room.

Lantar walked in, his eyes on a canister in his hand. "Hey, Sol, I couldn't find any ice, but I have an extra medi-gel pack you can—"

He looked up at Garrus.

* * *

**Garrus**

It had been years since he'd seen Sidonis. His face had burn scars where his markings used to be. The scarring was uneven, unprofessional; he likely did it himself. Other than that, he had that same simpering look, that aura of cowardice like a thin translucent film covering his every inch. He looked at Garrus—right in the eye—with those beady fucking eyes of his. To his credit, he didn't look away or even shrink. Maybe he had a spine installed over the years. Garrus' fingers twitched before he knew it, pulling the trigger to a gun he was sure should be in his hands.

Solana broke the murderous blue haze he was in. "Garrus," she said. "He saved our lives."

Yes, she had said that before. This trash saved his family? He shook his head. It had to be false. Mistaken identity, or an elaborate con. There was no way Solana was telling the truth.

"Dad?" Solana said.

Pallin looked Sidonis over for a few moments. "Yes, I remember you. You carried Solana to the ship when her leg broke."

Sidonis nodded.

Pallin nodded back. "I never thanked you, boy." He chuckled. "I'm in an awkward position, aren't I? On the one hand, you nearly killed my son. On the other, you saved my daughter. I honestly don't know what to think about you." He sucked air through his mandibles. "A murderer or a hero. Which one is really you, I wonder?"

Sidonis lifted his hands in a pathetic shrug. "Both."

Garrus' pistol was in his hand in the span of a blink, and Sidonis would have been dead just as fast, but Solana had prepared; she grabbed his hand and  _pushed_ Garrus away with the help of her biotics, knocking him hard against the doors. His back locked and he sank to his knees, his gun on the floor several feet away.

"Whoo," Drineax said from his corner. "Family drama is the worst."

Garrus shook his head and rolled his shoulders as he stood. Solana's stare was intense, frightening, even. Where had this girl come from? Where was his responsible little sister, the one who stopped family fighting between him and his dad, who always focused on the most important thing and never wasted her time on trivial bullcrap like everyone else?

_Maybe she never left._

Maybe he was the one being trivial right now.

Sidonis had gone wide-eyed, but he hadn't moved. Garrus hobbled a step toward him. Then another. Each step, he could smell the treasonous bastard's fear grow stronger. How could any of them miss it? Even Zaeed with his human nose had to smell it?

Solana got close behind him. Protective. She slept with him, she had said. Why couldn't Garrus smell a hint of him on her, then? How could she make love with something so  _disgustingly_ odious?

When he was as close to Sidonis as he could stand to be, he straightened up. Sidonis did, too. Garrus lifted his hand, and Sidonis flinched. His hand was empty, however. Sidonis stared at it for a moment, then straightened up again and took it in his own.

Garrus locked his grip on Sidonis and jerked him close, making him drop the medi-gel he was holding. He felt the joints in Sidonis' arm pop. "I'll deal with you later. One millimeter out of line, I will  _eviscerate_ you."

He let go. Sidonis rubbed his hand and elbow. "Noted."

Garrus turned from him and brushed past Solana, who remained tense as a tree, watching him. "So, what's the plan? We only have a limited amount of time before the Council moves, and John can't stall them forever."

A thundering noise from outside sent a faint rumbling in the floor beneath them. The thundering was followed by another succession of sounds, each accompanied by stronger and stronger rumbles in the ground.

"What is that?" Caelon said.

"Footsteps," Drineax replied. Everyone looked toward him in the corner. "We have the mechs now, remember? I think your asari prisoner's brought some backup. You  _do_ have a plan for that, right?"

Right on cue, explosions echoed from outside, shaking the walls to their foundations.

"I might have planned something," Solana said innocently. "But we need to move."

Garrus took point at the door, checking outside to make sure it was clear. He saw smoke rising a couple of blocks away. The heavy footsteps of mechs was lessened, but he could still hear them coming. They all filed out on his signal.

"What did you do?" He asked Solana.

"Benaka and I left some concentrated mass effect fields in certain locations that will only trigger when enough weight is applied to them. Biotic landmines, basically."

"You can maintain them even when you're not there?"

"It's less stable, and some of them might have fizzled out, but they're small enough to be self-contained for a while."

"But big enough to take out a mech."

"Or at least knock one down."

Garrus heard shouting and heavy thuds of mechs going down. Solana and Sidonis—together—led the group through a back alley and deeper into the slums. Garrus kept an eye on Pallin; though he showed no signs of struggle, Garrus knew he would have a hard time keeping up sooner or later. He was out of practice, not to mention recently hospitalized. Solana looked back at him and, as if they shared a mindlink, nodded. They'd protect eachother no matter what.

Unfortunately, she seemed to apply that to Sidonis as well. He stuck by her side every moment, almost cringingly so; he had been the same way with Garrus back when it was only the two of them fighting the mercenaries on Omega, only now there was more than a mentor/mentee relationship keeping him at Solana's side. We'll, he'd watch Sidonis' back too—if only to keep his own from being stabbed.


End file.
